i; ! tei  ill'! '';i:i-i .:;! 


{)hmr    OF  CM  IF    I  »RRA^Y    I  Of?  ANGERS 


/I  MYCAJAH  CLARKE 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANQ6^^ 


LIBRARY  OF 

ARCHITECTURE  AND 

ALLIED  ARTS 


Gift  of 


WILLIAM  M.  CLARKE 


The  House  Dignified 

Its  Design,  Its  Arrangement 
And  Its  Decoration 


By 

Lillie  Hamilton  French 

Author  of  "  Homes  and  Their  Decoration,"  "  Hezekiah's  Wives,' 
*'  My  Old  Maid's  Comer,"  etc. 


With  Seventy^five  Original  Illustrations 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York    XTbe  IRnlcfterbocfter  press         London 

1908 


Copyright,  1908 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Zbe  lenicfterboclier  f>re0S,  Ytew  X?orft 


Urban  Pisnotng 


N/Zf 


r 


Preface 

'T'HE  need  of  the  present  volume  has  grown  out  of 
*  the  fact  that,  while  palatial  houses  are  springing 
up  everywhere  throughout  our  country,  the  cost  and 
magnificence  of  which  are  widely  exploited,  but  little 
heed  has  been  given  to  a  true  consideration  either  of 
environments  or  of  the  application  of  detail.  Some 
word,  therefore,  seems  desirable  to  check  those  elabo- 
rate outlays  which  not  only  produce  among  lovers 
of  the  best  a  feeling  of  dismay,  but  establish  among 
the  thoughtless  standards  that  are  corrupting  in  their 
influence. 

The  word  "corrupting"  has  been  used  advisedly. 
There  can  be  no  influence  so  deteriorating  in  any 
art,  especially  in  that  associated  with  interior  decora- 
tion, as  the  foisting  upon  a  credulous  public  of  gross 
imitations,  and  stamping  these  with  names  that  have 
always  stood  for  truth  and  excellence.  When  these 
imitations  have  been  guaranteed  by  that  endorsement 
which  a  startling  price-mark  invariably  lends,  a  certain 
authority,  for  the  moment  at  least,  has  been  established. 
The  danger  is  that  those  with  no  knowledge  of  the 
subject  are  led  to  accept  as  authentic  the  objects  thus 


iv  preface 

heralded,  moulding  their  own  unformed  tastes  upon 
them,  as  when  they  go  about  copying  certain  rooms 
called  after  French  kings,  though  fashioned  and 
furnished  exclusively  by  modem  upholsterers. 

Having  no  national  criterions  to  guide  us,  we  have 
been  obliged  to  seek  those  furnished  by  older  civilisa- 
tions, as  have  all  peoples,  for  the  matter  of  that,  whose 
history  has  been  parallel  to  our  own.  This,  then, 
is  not  to  our  discredit.  That  which  is  to  our  dis- 
credit is  our  tendency  to  keep  following  new  crazes, 
trusting  to  our  recently  acquired  millions  to  accom- 
plish that  which  it  has  taken  others  centuries  to  pro- 
duce. The  result  has  been  chaos  and  confusion,  the 
one  dominant  note  being  oftenest  one  of  mere  vanity 
— ^the  vanity  of  possessions. 

To  avoid  the  dangers  entailed  by  a  discussion  of 
individual  houses,  good  or  bad,  the  plan  adopted 
in  the  following  pages  is  that  of  considering  separate 
rooms,  and  grouping  the  descriptions  of  them  in  single 
chapters.  In  this  way  it  has  been  thought  possible, 
without  offending,  to  dwell  more  completely  upon 
that  which  is  most  frequently  ignored — the  question 
of  the  adaptation  of  rooms  to  special  purposes,  since 
it  is  just  here  that  one  encounters  the  most  obvious 
mistakes.  With  this  plan,  too,  a  greater  freedom 
of  discussion  is  permitted,  especially  when  referring 
to  the  almost  wanton  disregard  of  fitness,  and  to  the 
constant  missing  of  right  relationships,  displayed  by 
those  in  high  places.     By  following  this  plan,  greater 


preface  v 

latitude  is  also  allowed  when  referring  to  what  arouses 
pleasure  and  enthusiasm,  as  in  cases  where  every 
requirement  of  good  taste  and  beauty  has  been  ob- 
served. For  back  of  the  lovely  impressions  produced, 
lie  personalities  commanding  our  respect,  men  and 
women  who  have  studied  and  observed,  conscientiously, 
intelligently,  and  reverently,  subordinating  individual 
whimsicality  in  matters  of  detail  for  the  sake  of  a 
harmonious  total  effect — ^men  and  women  whose  sole 
aim  has  been  perfection. 

Many  thanks  are  due  from  the  author  of  this  book 
to  those  who  have  so  generously  opened  their  houses 
to  her.  If  to  any  of  these  a  comment  should  come 
with  the  shock  of  a  privilege  abused,  this  apology 
is  offered:  Nothing  has  been  written  here  in  a  cen- 
sorious spirit.  The  essentially  bad  has  not  been 
included  in  any  discussion,  but  the  author  has  ventured 
to  call  attention  to  certain  weaknesses  and  defects 
which,  in  her  judgment,  occasionally  accompany  high 
general  excellence. 

L.  H.  F. 
New  York,  September,  1908. 


Contents 


CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

Entrances  and  Halls  .         o         .         »         =.         ,         i 


CHAPTER  II 
Stairways  .         .         .         ,         ,         .         .         •       17 

CHAPTER  III 
Dining-Rooms      ..,..,,,       32 

CHAPTER  IV 
Salons  and  Drawing-Rooms  .         .         ,         ,         „       47 

CHAPTER  V 
Boudoirs,  Dens,  and  Smoking-Rooms  ....       63 

CHAPTER  VI 
Libraries    .........       79 

CHAPTER  VII 
Bedrooms,  Bathrooms,  and  Dressing-Rooms         .  .       95 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Windows  and  Doors    .  .  .         ,         ,         .         .110 

vii 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER  IX 
Fireplaces  ...•••         ° 

CHAPTER  X 
Some  Important  Details      .         •         »         •         •         .142 


PACK 


Illustrations 


FACING    PACK 

Garden  front  of  Henry  W.  Poor's  house  at  Tuxedo, 

New  York     ......       Frontispiece 

T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

Entrance  to  Henry  W.  Poor's  house  at  Tuxedo,  New  York  .         2 
T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

Entrance  to  William  D.  Sloane's  residence,  2  West  5 2d 

Street,  New  York  City    ......         4 

Herter  Bros.,  Architects 

Residence  of  Richard  T.  Wilson  Jr.,  15  East  57th  Street, 

New  York  City       .......         6 

Francis  L.  V.  Hoppin,  Architect 

Residence  of  Clarence  Mackay  at  Roslyn,   Long  Island, 

New  York 8 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Dressing-room    in    the    former    residence    of    William    C. 

Whitney        ........        10 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Lower  hall  in  the  residence  of  Henry  W.  Poor,  Gramercy 

Park,  New  York  City      .  .  .  .  .  .12 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Hall  in  Clarence  Mackay' s  house  at  Roslyn,  Long  Island, 

New  York      ........        14 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 


1IUu0tration0 


FACING    PAGE 


Upper  hall  in  the  residence  of  Henry  W.  Poor,  Gramercy 

Park,  New  York  City i6 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Lower  hall  in  the  former  residence  of  William  C.  Whitney       i8 
McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Stairway  in  Henry  W.  Poor's  country  house  at  Tuxedo, 

New  York      ........        20 

T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

Stairway   from   lower  hall   of    Henry   W.    Poor's    house, 

Gramercy  Park,  New  York  City        .  .  .  .22 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Stairway  in  the  Palace  of  Fontainebleau.     Style  of  Louis 

XV 24 

Stairway  in    Clarence    Mackay's  house  at   Roslyn,  Long 

Island,  New  York  .......        24 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Stairway  in  the  house  of  the  late  WilHam   C.  Whitney, 

New  York  City .26 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Head  of  main  stairway  at  the  Palace  of  Fontainebleau         .        28 

Stairway  in  upper  hall  of  Henry  W.  Poor's  house,  Gramercy 

Park,  New  York  City 30 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Landing  on  stairway  in  the  house  of  the    late    Stanford 

White,  Gramercy  Park,  New  York  City     .  .  -32 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

"  A  doorway  placed  round  a  corner  formed  by  an  angle  of 

the  wall"        ........        32 

Dining-room  in   Henry  W.  Poor's  House,  Gramercy  Park, 

New  York  City        .......        34 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 


1lllu0tration9  xi 

FACING   PAGE 

Dining-room  in  the  house  of  the  late  Stanford  White, 

Gramercy  Park,  New  York  City        .  .  .  -36 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Dining-room  in  the  house  of  the  late  William  C.  Whitney, 

New  York  City 38 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

A  modest   dining-room,    "Breezy   Meadow,"    Mrs.    Kate 

Sanborn's  farm,  Metcalfe,  Mass.        ....       40 

Stone  room  in  the  country  house  of  Clarence  H.  Mackay, 

Roslyn,  Long  Island,  New  York        .  .  .  .48 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Ballroom  in  the  house  of  the  late  William  C.  Whitney, 

New  York  City 5° 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Drawing-room  in  the    town  house  of    Henry  W.   Poor, 

Gramercy  Park,  New  York  City        .  .  .  •       5^ 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

Drawing-room  in  the  country  house  of    Henry  W.  Poor, 

Tuxedo,  New  York 52 

T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

Drawing-room  in  the  house  of  E.  C.  Converse,  Greenwich, 

Conn.    .........        54 

Donn  Barber,  Architect 

Drawing-room  in   the  house  of  Mrs.  William  Astor,  New- 
port, R.  I.      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  -56 

Photo  by  Alman,  N.  Y. 

Drawing-room  of  a  house  at  Buffalo,  New  York  .  .        58 

Photo  by  Baker,  N.  Y.     Carrere  &  Hastings,  Architects 

Drawing-room  in  the  house  of  the  late  August  Belmont, 

now  the  residence  of  Perry  Belmont,  Newport,  R.  I.       60 
Photo  by  Baker 


xii  flUu0tration0 


FACING   PAGE 


Smoking-room  in  a  private  house  at  Southampton,  Long 

Island  ........        64 

McKim,    Mead   &   White,  Architects.      Photo  by  Baker, 
New  York 

Smoking-room  in  the  residence  of  Henry  Seligman,  New- 
York     .........       64 

Photo  by  Baker,  New  York 

Smoking-room  in  the  country  house  of  Henry  W.  Poor,  at 

Tuxedo,  New  York  ......       66 

T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

Study  in  a  private  house  at  Buffalo,  New  York  ,  .        70 

Carrere  &  Hastings,  Architects.     Photo  by  Baker,  New 
York 

Library  at  "Hillstead,"  the  residence  of  Alfred  A.  Pope, 

Farmington,  Conn.  ......        80 

McKim,   Mead  &   White,   Architects.     Photo  by   Baker, 
New  York 

Large    mahogany    writing-table    ornamented    in    bronze 

supposed  to  have  belonged  to  Talleyrand  .  .        82 

Writing-desk  of  rosewood  made  for  Louis  XV.  .  .       82 

Library  in  the  country  house  of  Henry  W.  Poor,  Tuxedo, 

New  York      . 84 

Colony  Club  reading-room       ......       86 

From  a  photo  by  Hall 

Woodwork  in  the  library  of  the  Dauphin,  son  of  Louis  XV, 

in  the  Palace  of  Versailles         .....       88 

Cabinet  in  the  Cluny  Museum,  of  a  class  highly  prized  as 

storage-places  for  old  manuscripts  in  libraries    .  .       88 

Library  in  the  residence  of  Henry  Seligman,  New  York       92 
Photo  by  Baker,  New  York 


miustrations 


XIU 


Louis  XVI  white  marble  fireplace  in  queen's  boudoir  at 
Fontainebleau         •  .  .  .  . 

Carved  fireplace  in  the  hall  of  a  New  York  house 

Louis  XVI  gilded  brass  bracket 

Louis  XVI  gilded  mirror 

Carved  mirror,  Mus^e  Cluny  . 

Louis  XVI  bronze  candelabra 

Louis  XVI  chandelier    . 

Louis  XV  chandelier — Alabaster  and  brass 


96 


FACING  PAGB 

Bedroom  in  "Hillstead,"  the  residence  of  Alfred  A.  Pope, 
Farmington,  Conn.  .....' 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects.     Photo  by  Baker 

Bedroom   in  the  country  house  of   Clarence    H.  Mackay 
at  Roslyn,  Long  Island  ...... 

McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 


96 

98 

100 

104 


Comer  in  bedroom  of  Louis  XV  at  Versailles 

A  Chippendale  guest-room 

Bedroom   in   the   country   house   of    Henry  W.  Poor   at 
Tuxedo,  New  York  ..... 

T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

White  marble  mantel  with  gilded  wood  over-mantel 

Fireplace  in  town  house  of  Henry  W.  Poor,  New  York  City     130 

Louis    XV    fireplace   in    throne    room   of    Fontainebleau     136 

Louis  XV  fireplace  of  marble  decorated  with  ormolu 


130 


136 

140 
140 
142 
142 
142 
146 
146 
146 


THE  HOUSE  DIGNIFIED 


Chapter  I 

Entrances  and  Halls 

nPHE  interest  felt  in  modem  entrances  and  halls 
owes  its  inspiration  to  something  more  than 
a  merely  ephemeral  concern  with  novel  architec- 
tural features-  A  deeper  feeling  is  involved.  Con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  we  are  striving  to  solve 
the  problem  of  their  rightful  relation  to  the  house  as 
a  whole,  not  only  in  the  way  of  balance  and  propor- 
tion, but  as  indicating  the  deeper  notes  sounded  by 
individual  character,  breeding,  and  a  certain  savoir 
faire. 

Happily,  of  late  years,  we  have  been  paying  the 
subject  a  closer  and  more  intelligent  attention.  We 
can  hardly  pay  it  too  much.  For  in  the  psychology 
of  the  home,  the  hall  and  entrance  stand  for  the  hand- 
clasp of  the  host,  his  manner  of  welcoming  or  repelling 


2  Zhc  fbomc  2)i0nific^ 

you.  They  reveal  his  all-round  equipment.  Before 
a  word  has  been  uttered,  you  have  "sensed"  the 
mental  make-up  of  the  man,  and  have  been  made  to 
feel  the  measure  of  his  social  tact. 

A  phenomenal  national  prosperity  has  set  us  to 
indiscriminate  building.  Every  kind  of  architectural 
excrescence  has  been  the  result,  since  most  of  us  have 
gone  about  it  in  an  irresponsible,  haphazard  fashion, 
governed  by  no  recognised  or  well-thought-out  laws 
and  standards.  The  history  of  our  so-called  de- 
velopment has  been  characterised,  indeed,  not  so 
much  by  progressive  steps  as  by  a  series,  now  of  revolts, 
now  of  servile  imitations,  and  now  again  by  a  state 
of  wild  pandemonium  in  which  only  catchwords, 
have  controlled  us — Empire,  Queen  Anne,  Eliza- 
bethan or  Renaissance — any  word,  in  fact,  which 
fashion  having  once  uttered  boastfully,  the  manu- 
facturer has  adopted  and  turned  to  his  profit — just 
as  he  satisfied  the  demand  for  oak  furniture  with 
the  monstrosity  now  known  as  the  yellow  oak  of 
commerce. 

When  we  have  not  been  caught  by  catchwords, 
we  have,  for  lack  of  models  of  our  own,  set  about 
copying,  not  adapting,  foreign  models,  importing 
many  which  bore  no  rightful  relation  to  our  particular 
environment,  as  when  we  reproduced  houses  sur- 
rounded by  landed  estates,  and  tucked  them  into 
comers  of  well-filled  city  blocks.  Worse  still,  doggedly 
determined   on  some   one   feature   of   another  man's 


J6ntranc^5  anD  t)all0  3 

dwelling,  which  seemed  good  in  that  place,  and  no 
doubt  was,  we  have  insisted  upon  adopting  that 
particular  feature  for  ourselves,  without  regard  to  its 
fitness.  Thus,  we  have  colonial  doors  appearing  in 
brown-stone  fronts,  the  windows  of  which  have  not 
been  brought  into  harmony.  Or  we  have  heavy 
bronze  gates,  proportioned  for  palaces,  set  up  at  the 
head  of  conventional  city  stoops,  our  imagination 
not  having  proved  equal  to  the  task  of  considering 
the  rest  of  the  facade. 

Thus,  too,  bent  on  imitation  at  all  costs,  we  have 
been  made  to  suffer,  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, from  a  perfect  epidemic  of  halls  transformed 
into  living-rooms,  an  epidemic  which  has  affected  even 
the  prosperous  town-dweller.  Fireplaces  have  been 
constructed  and  upholstered  seats  set  out  in  the  only 
passage-ways  to  which  strangers  and  messengers  could 
be  admitted,  and  through  which  guests  arriving  for 
dinner  must  make  their  way  up-stairs  for  the  removal 
of  wraps  and  overshoes,  elbowing  a  way  past  earlier 
arrivals,  now  divested  of  their  street  apparel.  The 
effect  upon  no  one  is  agreeable,  and  the  question 
inevitably  arises,  Why,  with  wealth  enough  to  build 
at  all,  and  with  even  a  pretence  of  the  hospitable 
spirit,  should  one  be  willing  to  submit  one's  self  or  to 
subject  one's  guests  to  the  discomfort  of  these  dis- 
agreeable encounters?  If  a  roomy  gathering-place  is 
so  much  desired,  why  not  build  such  a  place  in  a  room 
apart,  leaving  the  hall  to  express  its  legitimate  purpose 


4  Zl)c  Ibowsc  Dignified 

— ^that  of  a  passage-way  ?  Its  charm  would  only  be  quick- 
ened by  its  privacy,  its  dignity  enhanced  by  closed 
doors. 

Halls  to  which  the  general  outsider  is  admitted 
are  permissible  only  in  mountain  camps  or  club-houses. 
They  are  an  abomination  in  the  town  or  country 
house  where  entertaining  goes  on,  and  not  all  the 
glory  of  tapestry  and  armour,  nor  all  the  allurements 
of  blazing  hickory,  make  them  admissible.  A  screen 
set  up,  or  a  curtain  hung,  may  represent  a  certain 
attempt  at  atonement,  but  the  hall  misused  is  the 
original  sin  of  the  builder,  which  even  generations  of 
correct  living  cannot  outgrow. 

To  sum  up,  then,  a  hall  is  a  passage-way  to  apart- 
ments beyond.  Without  doubt  it  should  be  made 
lovely,  but  as  certainly  its  cordiality  should  be  tem- 
pered, not  made  embarrassing.  It  should  promise 
good  things,  and  charm  in  a  passage  to  them,  but  not 
insist  upon  holding  you,  like  groups  of  people  who 
stop  on  Broadway  for  embraces,  blocking  the  way  and 
obtruding  the  intimacies.  Intimacies  are  not  for  the 
general  eye. 

In  the  best  of  our  modem  houses,  not  necessarily 
those  designed  by  our  best  architects,  but  those  in 
which  the  fine  intelligence  of  the  householder  has  been 
an  informing  factor,  this  question  of  entrances  and 
halls  has  been  treated  with  dignity  and  discretion. 
And  perhaps  the  only  way  of  arriving  at  a  clearer 
understanding  of  the  subject  will  be  by  referring  to 


Hert^r  Biu=,.,  Architec 


ENTRANCE    TO   WILLIAM    D.    SLOAN e's    RESIDENCE,    2    WEST    5 2D    STREET,    NEW 

YORK    CITY 


]6ntrance0  anD  Iballe  5 

what  has  already  been  accomplished  in  some  notable 
instances. 

With  the  very  first  discussion  of  plans,  then, 
there  was  always  recognition  of  the  fact  that  provision 
for  entertaining  must  be  made.  Here  the  question 
became  at  once  involved  with  that  concerning  the 
number  of  halls  to  be  thrown  open  to  guests.  Only 
when  this  point  was  settled  was  one  left  free  to  discuss 
details  of  arrangement.  For  necessarily,  when  two 
halls  enter  in  as  factors  of  the  problem,  one  being  on 
the  street  level,  the  other  on  the  drawing-room  floor, 
the  treatment  of  each  may  vary.  While  the  lower 
hall  must  be  left  to  express  its  formality,  the  upper 
hall  may  be  considered  in  its  more  intimate  rela- 
tions, as  part  of  a  whole  which,  during  the  exigencies 
of  elaborate  entertaining,  can  lend  itself  to  social 
relaxation. 

In  the  more  important  of  our  town  houses,  there- 
fore, when  the  two  halls  appear,  it  has  been  customary 
to  provide,  opening  out  of  the  lower  hall,  dressing- 
rooms  for  guests,  who,  their  wraps  off,  make  their 
way  to  the  salons  above.  Some  of  these  dressing- 
rooms  are  both  elaborate  and  beautiful.  They  are 
not  only  provided  with  toilet  tables  and  long  mirrors, 
chairs  and  resting-places,  but  connected  with  them  are 
always  smaller  rooms  having  hot  and  cold  water. 
Thus,  from  the  moment  of  arrival,  the  guest  is  taken 
possession  of  by  his  host,  no  detail  of  comfort  being 
neglected,  and  no  emergency  left  unconsidered.     All 


6  Hbc  1bou0e  2)ignifieb 

embarrassment  has  in  this  way  been  spared  both  the 
entertainer  and  the  entertained. 

These  lower  entrance  halls  have  been  a  revelation 
to  most  Americans,  accustomed  for  so  long  to  narrow 
passage-ways,  and  the  too  obvious  staircase.  The 
happiest  examples  are  those  in  which  marbles  enter 
into  the  construction.  There  was  a  time,  not  so  very 
far  removed,  when  marble  was  tabooed  in  halls.  In 
our  unthinking  ignorance,  we  revolted  from  its  flagrant 
abuses,  confusing  the  substance  with  its  misapplica- 
tion ;  for  we  had  seen  it  only  on  the  floors  of  brown- 
stone  fronts,  and  stupidly  combined  with  walnut  or 
mahogany.  Such  combinations,  never  proper,  are  now 
no  longer  seen,  the  marble  of  the  modem  hall  forming 
floors  and  walls  aUke.  Simplicity  and  dignity  have 
become  the  dominant  notes;  beauty  of  line  and  pro- 
portion the  compelling  factors. 

The  impression  made  upon  the  new  arrival  is 
instantaneous  and  irresistible.  The  door  closed  be- 
hind him,  he  feels  at  once  at  home  and  suddenly  re- 
freshed, even  before  he  has  made  ready  to  ascend  to 
his  hostess.  No  upholsteries  annoy  him,  neither  does 
a  trifle  unduly  detain  him.  He  hears  the  splash  of 
cool  Italian  fountains,  and  feels  the  refreshment  of 
perpetually  moistened  ferns.  And  here  it  may  be 
as  well  to  repeat,  what  I  have  said  in  another  volume, 
that  the  presence  of  growing  plants,  even  in  marble 
halls,  suggests  at  once  a  kindly  tempered  atmosphere. 
We  used  to  think  it  necessary  to  introduce  notes  of 


.    'w^ 1 ^..S^ 

Francis  L.  V.  Hoppin,  Architect 

RESIDENCE    OF    RICHARD    T.    WILSON,    JR.,  I5    EAST    57TH    STREET,    NEW    YORK    CITY 


Entrances  ant)  Iballs  7 

crimson  to  convey  a  sense  of  warmth.  But  that 
which  is  suggested  by  trickling  fountains  and  growing 
plants  assures  you  a  comfort  to  which  even  colour  is 
unequal.  One  may  enter  such  a  place  from  a  snow- 
storm or  a  dusty,  torrid  street.  The  effect  is  the  same. 
One  feels  one's  self  in  a  region  set  apart  from  turmoil 
and  strife,  lured  on  to  pleasures  above,  as  by  the 
smile  of  a  child  from  the  window. 

Into  halls  like  these  the  wrought-iron  or  bronze 
door  opens,  protected  in  many  instances  by  glass 
doors,  having  a  narrow  well-designed  framework  of 
metal  or  wood,  depending  upon  the  rest  of  the  con- 
struction. Marble  benches  and  tables  alone  appear 
in  these  halls. 

Grave  mistakes  in  construction  have,  however, 
been  made.  The  street  door,  when  badly  placed,  will 
sometimes  send  a  blast  of  air  rushing  up  the  stairs, 
setting  the  palms  in  the  upper  hall  to  violent  rustling 
and  the  backs  of  the  guests  to  creeping  with  cold,  as 
if  a  sudden  storm  had  blown  in  from  the  sea.  The 
effect  of  the  gusts  of  wind  among  the  palms  is  dis- 
agreeably suggestive,  even  if  the  weather  be  warm. 
To  avoid  a  like  impression  some  house-builders  have 
protected  by  a  sliding  glass  door  the  hall  in  which 
guests  are  gathered  when  entertaining  goes  on.  Thus, 
in  one  instance,  entrance  to  the  house  is  had  through 
a  marble  vestibule  opening  into  a  square  hall.  From 
this  small  hall,  the  guests  may  during  the  daytime 
enter  the  great  hall,  or  on  gala  nights  ascend  by  ele- 


8  Zbc  fbomc  Dignifiet) 

vators  to  the  dressing-rooms  above,  making  their 
descent  to  their  hostess  down  the  grand  staircase. 
The  sHding  glass  door  just  referred  to  is  at  right  angles 
to  the  small  hall.  When  closed,  as  for  evening  enter- 
tainments, and  banked  with  flowering  shrubs  or  palms, 
it  not  only  shuts  off  the  draught,  but  transforms  the 
great  hall  into  a  sumptuous  and  secluded  interior, 
where  a  hostess  may  receive,  or  her  guests  may  move 
freely  about. 

It  is  a  palatial  hall  of  marble  with  a  heavy  gold 
ceiling.  The  balustrade  runs  up  the  wide  staircase, 
and  skirts  the  hall  above,  the  two  being  lighted  by  a 
beautifully  coloured  dome.  From  this  second  upper 
hall  open  the  library,  den,  breakfast-room  and  bed- 
rooms. Over  the  balustrade  are  hung  rugs  and  rich 
embroidered  velvets. 

In  both  halls  great  dignity  is  preserved.  The  walls 
of  the  lower  hall  are  finished  by  a  sculptured  frieze, 
under  which  are  hung  old  cathedral  stuffs.  The  big 
cathedral  chairs  arranged  against  the  wall  proclaim 
an  appropriate  formality.  The  undraped  tables  are 
left  unencumbered.  Stable  objects  alone  are  placed 
upon  them,  rare  but  large  bronzes  and  carvings,  adding 
a  sense  of  repose  and  proportion.  The  walls  of  the 
upper  hall  are  lined  with  tapestries,  while  over  the 
doors  are  charmingly  designed  oval  frames  in  high 
relief,  enclosing  some  enchanting  Tiepolos. 

In  houses  of  lesser  note  the  same  general  con- 
struction has  been  followed  in  the  lower  hall — that 


"*■  "^  "^^TS^CTJM^t^^Tyt  ^ 


lentrancee  mb  Iballs  9 

is,  there  are  dressing-rooms  on  the  street  level  with 
stairs  leading  to  the  salons  above.  Charming  as  are 
some  of  these  halls,  and  full  of  dignity,  they  necessarily 
lack  the  more  alluring  quality  of  halls  built  of  marble 
and  set  out  with  trickling  fountains.  Where  walls 
must  be  covered  with  paper  and  the  floor  and  staircase 
carpeted,  one  runs  the  risk  of  a  bad  colour  sense  in  the 
householder.  Then,  too,  it  necessarily  follows  that 
no  paper  or  paint  can  equal  in  impressiveness  the 
beauty  of  carved  woods  or  chiselled  marbles.  More- 
over, with  bare  walls  to  cover,  the  temptation  to  the 
housekeeper  is  to  introduce  too  many  stuffs  and  ex- 
traneous belongings,  till  the  hall  becomes  like  an 
overdressed  woman,  jarring  on  the  senses. 

While  certain  hangings  are  appropriate  for  town 
houses,  in  the  entrance  halls  of  country  houses,  sup- 
posedly left  open  for  every  breeze,  they  are  an  afflic- 
tion. Nothing  is  gained  by  them,  and  ever5rthing  is 
lost.  The  loveHest  country  hall  I  know  boasts  but  a 
single  hanging.  The  walls  are  panelled  in  old  English 
oak,  perfect  in  their  proportion  and  repose.  The  floor 
is  of  wood,  the  ceiling  carved.  The  doors  are  rich  in 
carving  and  the  windows  leaded,  the  green  of  outside 
growing  things  gleaming  through.  A  strip  of  plain 
green  filling  runs  the  length  of  the  hall,  in  which  are 
set  old  oak  chests  and  high-back  chairs,  the  crimson 
note  furnished  by  some  of  the  coverings  adding  an 
irresistible  touch  of  cheer.  The  tact  of  the  house- 
holder   is    proved    by    the    self-restraint    everywhere 


exercised   and  the  introduction  only  of  that  which 
dehghts  like  a  flower,  but  does  not  distract  like  a  stuff. 

Lower  halls,  then,  having  been  treated  with  a  due 
formality,  one  is  left  free  to  introduce  the  more  familiar 
note  in  the  upper  hall,  excluded  by  every  law  from 
the  approach  of  the  messenger.  Fireplaces  become 
possible  here,  and  the  familiar  sofa,  though  never  to 
my  mind  the  reading-lamp.  All  provision  for  the 
interchange  of  civilities  should  still  take  on  a  casual 
character.  But  this,  as  has  been  said  before,  is  a 
point  sometimes  difficult  to  urge  upon  the  American. 
We  seem  to  have  an  instinctive  national  fear  of  privacy, 
a  doubtful  questioning  about  closed  doors.  Fences, 
too,  we  abhor,  and  a  protecting  iron  gate  to  our  gardens 
sets  a  whole  community  aflame. 

Some  think,  for  instance,  that  they  have  done  well 
by  their  guests  in  setting  apart  for  their  exclusive 
benefit  comers  of  an  upper  hall,  being  afraid,  perhaps, 
to  supply  interiors  protected  by  doors,  or  diffident 
about  doing  so.  With  all  our  wealth  we  have  not  yet 
attained  to  the  surety  and  magnificence  of  certain 
European  methods,  where  money  is  not  so  new,  and 
ways  of  doing  things  have  been  long  enough  established 
to  arouse  no  temerity.  In  some  foreign  houses,  for 
instance,  besides  the  conventional  suite  of  variously 
assorted  bedrooms  and  baths,  a  separate  salon  is 
provided  for  each  lady  of  the  party,  a  liveried  footman, 
appointed  for  her  exclusive  benefit,  taking  up  his 
daily  station  before  her  closed  door. 


jentrance0  an^  1ball6  1 1 

When,  in  certain  of  our  town  houses,  ascent  is  made 
to  the  upper  hall  leading  to  the  drawing-rooms,  a 
region  of  beauty  and  sumptuousness  is  discovered 
which  goes  to  prove  how  surely  both  the  knowledge  and 
taste  of  certain  of  the  elect  among  us  have  progressed. 
The  flight  of  steps  which  has  ushered  us  from  a  region 
of  tempered  formality  introduces  us  into  one  of  warm 
magnificence.  The  doorways  are  framed  by  tapestries 
or  embossed  velvets,  the  velvets  of  the  curtains  them- 
selves having  borrowed  from  antiquity  a  lustre  delicate 
and  entrancing  as  that  of  moonlight  on  dew.  The 
fireplaces  are  of  majestic  proportions,  for  the  most 
part  being  those  bought  from  denuded  palaces.  The 
rugs  are  rare,  and  often  represent  the  price  of  a  po- 
tentate's ransom,  the  furs  a  journey  to  the  North  Pole 
to  procure.  The  marbles  are  exquisitely  carved,  the 
hanging  lamps  embossed  with  rich  designs,  the  chairs 
suggesting  not  only  royal  occupants,  but  being  them- 
selves creations  of  master  craftsmen. 

Yet  even  here,  where  the  wealth  of  magnificent 
appointments  abounds,  the  individuality  of  the  house- 
holder sounds  the  last  compelling  note.  She  may 
make  or  mar  it  all  by  the  introduction  of  the  inap- 
propriate, or  that  lack  of  self-restraint  which  impels 
her  to  use  some  material,  however  rich,  with  thought- 
less disregard  of  the  surroundings,  as  when  brocades 
or  cloths  of  gold  are  tossed  over  tables  which,  by 
reason  of  their  very  construction,  should  be  left  bare, 
except  perhaps  of  a  mat.     One  recognises  insensibly, 


12  ^be  Ibouee  3)iamfie^ 

too,  where  not  only  knowledge  but  love  has  entered 
in — love  of  the  beautiful  for  its  own  sake,  and  because 
beauty  is  a  contribution  to  life.  You  feel  that  tender, 
almost  reverential,  hands  have  placed  certain  objects 
in  certain  places,  not  that  they  may  "  fill  up  "  an  empty 
space,  but  because  the  empty  space  has  been  provided 
to  hold  something  treasured  above  all  else. 

Whatever  the  number  of  halls  in  a  house,  a  harmony 
of  design  and  treatment — of  quality,  perhaps,  as  the 
better  word — should  prevail  throughout.  This  is  not 
always  insisted  upon,  the  consequence  being  that 
those  who  ascend  still  another  pair  of  stairs  often  ex- 
perience many  a  rude  awakening.  The  conviction 
grows  that  the  money  perhaps  may  have  given  out 
before  the  third  story  was  reached ;  or  that  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  householder,  exhausted  with  the  tax  made 
upon  it  by  the  enforced  splendours  of  the  lower  halls, 
had  failed  her  when  left  by  herself,  like  a  half -educated 
person  with  no  tradition  to  fall  back  upon.  Real 
equipment  is  proved  by  the  treatment  of  places  more 
or  less  hidden  from  the  general  eye:  the  test  of  ex- 
cellence by  the  application  of  detail  throughout.  And 
it  is  just  because  these  truths  have  been  respected 
that  it  becomes  a  delight  to  walk  through  the  halls 
alone  of  certain  of  our  finer  houses.  There  is  one,  for 
instance,  where  on  the  bedroom  floor  of  a  town  dwell- 
ing, an  exquisite  all-satisfying  hall  is  discovered  of 
dark  carved  oak,  its  panels  filled  with  a  rare  crimson 
damask.     In  another,  as  beautiful,   the  hall  on  the 


fintrancee  anb  Iballs  13 

bedroom  floor  is  of  old  carved  oak  throughout,  lighted 
by  leaded  window-panes,  and  set  out  with  formal 
chairs  and  carved  oak  chests  and  bare  tables.  The 
plain  surfaces  of  the  beautiful  panels  refresh  and 
delight  you,  the  subdued  colour  of  the  old  oak  soothing 
the  senses.  In  still  another  bedroom  hall,  protected 
by  its  balustrades,  over  which  one  can  look  down 
on  the  stairs  (not  the  halls)  below,  pictures  are  hung, 
French  armoires  are  set  out,  and  a  sofa  placed  for  a 
word  by  the  way.  In  this  hall,  too,  is  an  antique 
velvet  trunk  holding  laces,  a  perfectly  legitimate 
object  in  such  an  environment,  but  a  note  that  would 
be  absolutely  false  in  a  drawing-room,  where  the  in- 
consequential collector,  liking  to  have  his  possessions 
in  view,  has  sometimes  been  tempted  to  place  one  of 
its  kind. 

In  some  of  the  smaller  city  houses  of  ordinary  di- 
mensions, several  interesting  departures  have  been 
made  in  the  treatment  of  conventional  hallways. 
These,  being  necessarily  dark,  except  as  they  are 
lighted  from  the  street  door,  have  been  covered  with 
white  wood-work  running  up  to  the  roof. 

In  one  interesting  example,  the  wall  surface  has 
been  broken  by  a  series  of  charmingly  designed  arches 
panelled  to  produce  a  receding  effect,  into  some  of 
which  mirrors  have  been  fitted.  These,  besides  adding 
light  and  cheerfulness,  suggest  greater  space,  while  the 
whole  architectural  arrangement  has  been  cleverly 
made  to  conceal  the  flight  of  stairs  to  the  basement. 


14  Zbc  fbonec  WiQwiUcb 

In  still  another  instance,  a  narrow  conventional  hall, 
where  the  foot  of  its  staircase  faces  the  front  door, 
originally  done  in  a  sombre  walnut  and  wall- 
paper so  dark  that  the  gas  had  to  be  perpetually 
lighted,  has  lately  been  finished  throughout  in  white. 
The  wooden  wall  surfaces  are  broken  by  panels  of 
delicate  proportions.  To  give  a  feeling  of  breadth, 
a  large  mirror  has  been  placed  to  the  left  of  the  en- 
trance ;  under  this  stands  a  marble  console,  the  marble 
repeating  that  of  the  floor  and  the  lower  step.  Oppo- 
site to  it,  and  reflected  in  it,  is  a  panelled  mirror  made 
to  look  like  a  door,  the  over-door  being  a  mirror  to 
give  light.  At  the  end  of  the  long,  straight  hall,  and 
facing  the  entrance,  is  the  servant's  door  into  the  din- 
ing-room. This  again  has  been  treated  with  panelled 
mirrors,  the  over-door  being  a  mirror  framed  in  by 
delicately  turned  mouldings.  The  ceilings  are  white. 
The  whole  effect  is  one  of  cleanliness  and  light. 

In  the  entrances  to  the  more  beautiful  of  our  town 
houses,  not  only  the  skill  of  the  architect  but  the 
sentiments  of  the  householder  have  been  exercised 
in  new  ways.  Where  space  allows  they  have  been 
made  approaches,  not  sudden  stumblings  into  door- 
ways. The  high  stoop,  so  long  the  horror  of  New 
York  streets,  has  been  made  to  disappear.  When  a 
flight  of  steps  appears  they  are  not  made  extraneous, 
but  part  of  the  gradual  approach  leading  up  to  the 
doorway.  On  many  of  our  side  streets  one  comes 
across  beautiful  entrances,  charming  doorways  made 


jentrance0  anD  lball6  15 

an  integral  part  of  the  facade  as  a  whole,  suggesting 
the  dignity  and  reserve  proper  to  towns,  but  compel- 
ling you  to  exclamations  of  admiration  by  their  beauty 
and  proportion.  Simplicity  is  their  prevailing  note, 
but  a  simplicity  which  does  not  preclude  the  use  of 
the  costly. 

Where  taste  has  been  less  certain,  one  sees  en- 
trances which  shock  and  bewilder  the  beholder,  just 
as  discordant  noises  grate  upon  his  ear.  Sometimes 
on  the  street  level  one  sees  a  cottage  porch  reproduced 
in  stone,  and  becoming  by  its  transformation  an  ugly 
and  inappropriate  adjunct  to  the  house. 

Again  we  see  cornices,  heavy  enough  for  feudal 
castles,  put  over  doors  too  slender  to  support  them; 
or  windows  made  gloomy  and  scowling  by  overhanging 
brows  of  sculptured  stone,  which  might  have  been 
appropriate  in  fierce  mediaeval  days,  but  which  are  as 
ridiculous  now  as  a  bombastic  manner  in  a  drawing- 
room. 

One  sees,  indeed,  many  things  which  go  to  prove 
that,  surely  as  we  are  progressing  in  certain  directions, 
w^e  are  yet  for  the  most  part  making  our  way  in  awk- 
ward fashion,  as  star-fish  walk,  now  jerking  to  one  side, 
now  to  another.  We  need  to  keep  our  vision  more 
direct,  to  understand  better,  not  only  our  individ- 
ual and  national  requirements,  but  our  obligation  to 
the  community,  more  especially  to  our  neighbour — a 
point  too  often  and  too  selfishly  ignored,  as  when  one 
makes  a  fagade  for  the  sake  of  display,  and  leaves  the 


1 6  Zbc  Ibouec  Bignltie^ 

rear  of  the  house  ugly — ^indifferent  to  the  fact  of  its 
spoiling  the  outlook  of  a  neighbour's  near-by  windows. 

Profuse  and  too  obvious  ornamentation  about  the 
entrances  of  city  houses  is  bad.  Now  and  then  some 
one  attempts  it  with  disastrous  results,  as  when  huge 
carved  lions  are  placed  outside  of  doorways.  On  the 
other  hand,  carved  lions,  or  any  other  heraldic  designs, 
when  rightly  proportioned,  are  altogether  lovely  on 
those  country  estates  whose  architecture  calls  for  them. 
They  impose  upon  you  a  feeling  of  rest  and  security 
not  easily  described. 

Unhappily  it  is  only  in  places  where  space  is  not  so 
valuable  as  in  New  York  that  approaches  to  a  house 
can  be  given  their  full  and  rightful  value.  Then  the 
very  landscape  itself,  the  laying  out  of  trees  and  gar- 
dens, the  possibility  of  vista,  are  all  made  to  contribute 
to  the  general  effect — that  of  leading  up  to  a  portal. 
Sometimes  the  effect  is  one  of  great  impressiveness. 
Sometimes  it  is  one  of  pure  charm,  as  when  the 
beauty  of  detail  has  been  combined  with  a  feeling  of 
restraint  which  suggests  the  modest  drawing-inward 
of  the  hostess  who,  while  greeting  you  with  distinc- 
tion and  courtesy,  leads  you  on  to  better  things 
beyond. 


Chapter  II 

Stairways 

A  FLIGHT  of  steps  tells  the  story  of  a  house.  It 
gives  you  a  man's  love  of  splendour  and  mag- 
nificence, proves  his  aspirations  toward  the  beautiful, 
and  reveals  his  secret  care  and  private  hope.  It  is 
like  an  open  book,  lying  outspread  before  you,  in  which 
you  may  read  of  royal  pageants,  trysts  of  lovers,  or  the 
charms  of  sunny,  terraced  gardens.  It  convinces  you 
of  past  glories,  as  no  fireplace  or  portal  could  do.  You 
realise  this  in  feudal  castles,  where  wide  flights  are 
found  leading  to  underground  galleries  once  assigned 
to  armed  retainers.  No  single  file  of  soldiers  mounted 
these,  but  phalanx  after  phalanx  of  stem  warriors 
in  clattering  steel.  What  else,  indeed,  could  give  you 
as  clearly  the  very  sign  and  seal  of  a  power  long  since 
fled,  and  half -forgotten? 

Except  the  steps  before  the  Capitol  at  Washing- 
ton, our  own  country  has  in  the  way  of  stairs  no  great 
evidences  of  past  glories.  In  our  private  houses,  we 
have  had,  to  be  sure,  the  wooden  stairways  of  Colonial 
days,  delightful  and  graceful  affairs  with  their  delicate 


17 


i8  ^be  1bou0c  Bignifieb 

spindle  rails  and  mahogany  hand-rests,  suggesting 
both  dignity  and  a  certain  lovely  elegance.  You 
can  still  hear  on  them  the  click  of  the  high-heeled 
slippers,  and  feel  again  the  full  round  of  the  arm  and 
the  taper  of  delicate  fingers  extended  to  the  railing. 
You  can  imagine,  too,  the  ascent  and  descent  of  the 
black  silk  stockings  and  buckled  shoes  of  imported 
cavaliers.  But  these  are  not  the  splendours  of  our 
modem  tiaras  and  bejewelled  stomachers.  The  needs 
of  to-day  differ  as  noontide  and  twilight. 

In  constructing  our  grand  staircases,  therefore, 
especially  those  in  marble,  with  which  of  late  years  our 
more  important  houses  have  been  enriched,  we  have 
been  forced  to  resort  to  foreign  models  as  examples. 
Everywhere  the  European  tradition  is  recognised. 
You  see  it  now  where  a  curve  or  a  railing  has  been 
borrowed  from  Fontainebleau,  now  where  a  lantern 
is  hung  as  at  the  Petit  Trianon,  and  now  again  in  the 
carvings  of  an  oaken  flight.  You  feel  it  especially  in 
the  application  of  detail,  more  particularly  in  that  of  the 
balustrade.  The  influence  here  is  all  foreign,  whether 
it  is  shown  in  cut  stone  and  marble,  wrought  iron,  or 
carved  wood.  And  a  very  delightful  influence  it  is, 
adding  great  elements  of  refinement  and  beauty  to 
our  houses,  and  making  the  process  of  house-building 
one  perpetual  source  of  pleasure  or  pain, — pleasure 
where  a  fine  bit  of  detail  is  discovered  on  some  model 
capable  of  being  applied  to  a  work  of  to-day ;  and  pain 
where  one  is  forced  to  confess  in  despair  that  most  of 


Stairwa^0  19 

its  alluring  quality  has  been  lost  in  the  process  of 
attempting  its   reproduction. 

The  fault  is  not  altogether  ours,  since  the  arts 
involved  in  the  creation  of  the  models  were  never  our 
possession.  Take  for  example  the  fine  cutting  of  stone 
and  marble,  and  compare  some  of  our  modern  attempts, 
with  their  broad  lines  and  heavy  detail,  with  that 
found  in  the  Moorish  work  of  the  Alhambra.  There 
in  the  Court  of  Lions  the  carved  marble  hangs  over 
the  open  arches  with  the  lightness  and  transparency 
of  lace.  One  feels  that  a  breath  might  sway  it.  Such 
grace  is  not  possible  among  us.  The  inspiration  has 
gone.  In  saying  this,  no  critical  carping  spirit  is 
implied.  The  fault,  if  there  be  one,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  we  are  not  only  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  about 
things  to  finish  them  properly,  but  that  we  expend 
our  energies  on  copying,  not  on  originating.  "Can't 
you  feel, "  a  woman  said  to  me,  pointing  to  some  Gothic 
carvings  in  the  Museum  of  Decorative  Arts  in  Paris, — 
"  can't  you  feel  that  these  men  studied  nature?  None 
of  these  were  copyists.  That  is  why  they  excite  our 
enthusiasm,  why  we  feel  their  power  even  in  the  frag- 
ments that  have  come  down  to  us." 

One  of  the  most  successful  designers  of  silk  that  this 
country  ever  produced  was  a  woman  who  got  her 
inspiration  from  the  woods — from  the  long  trail  of  a 
delicate  vine;  the  outspread  of  leaves  as  they  grew 
close  to  the  ground;  the  sway  of  water  plants,  the 
cheeks  of  their  blossoms  resting  on  the  water;  the 


20  Zhc  1bou0e  DlGnlfie^ 

intertwine  of  shadow  and  light,  where  sprays  of  leaves 
grow  up  against  a  garden  wall.  For  the  most  part, 
though,  I  repeat,  we  are  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  do 
even  this;  so  much  of  a  hurry,  indeed,  that  even  when 
one  attempts  to  build  slowly  and  surely,  a  host  of  the 
inexperienced  cry  out,  wondering  why  it  takes  so 
long  to  finish  a  house!  Houses  finished  in  paint  and 
plaster  can  be  done  quickly,  leaving  the  householder 
the  distraction  of  choosing  her  papers  and  hangings; 
but  houses  finished  in  fine  detail,  with  every  question 
of  carving  and  cornice  considered,  require  patient 
study  and  workmanship,  and  a  long  time  to  perfect. 

"How  did  you  attain  these  results?"  I  once  asked 
a  woman  who  had  taken  years  to  build  a  house,  now 
quoted  as  the  best  example  of  its  kind. 

"By  hard  work,"  she  answered;  "by  study;  by 
being  willing  to  build  up  and  tear  down  till  the  proper 
relations  were  established ;  by  being  willing  to  sacrifice 
a  cornice  or  a  moulding,  beautiful  in  itself,  but  out 
of  proportion  when  placed.  Hard  work,  patience,  and 
pain  are  the  only  secrets  I  know" — el  confession  which 
almost  any  great  genius  will  make,  whether  the  thing 
created  be  a  book,  a  picture,  or  a  play.  But  how  many 
people  are  capable  of  making  it? 

When  the  fortunate  collector  has  been  able  to  bring 
back  from  Europe  some  exquisite  bits  of  old  carving 
in  wood  or  stone,  pieces  of  an  ancient  balustrade  or 
frieze,  a  stained  column  or  fountain,  and  when,  by  the 
skill  of  the  architect,  these  have  been  introduced  in 


T.  Henry  Randall,  Architect 

STAIRWAY    IN    MR.    H.    W.    POOR'S    COUNTRY    HOUSE   AT   TUXEDO.    NEW    YORK 


stairways 


21 


and  about  stairways,  you  at  once  have  something 
compelling  you  to  pause.  For  here  you  have  that 
which  no  machinery  has  produced;  no  drill  that  was 
driven  by  steam,  but  an  intelHgence  that  loitered  with 
caressing  touch,  a  fancy  that  played  over  every  stroke. 
The  houses  in  which  these  are  found  are  the  houses 
that  stand  apart  in  the  memory,  and  to  which  one 
wishes  again  and  again  to  return. 

The  most  effective  of  stairways  are  those  which 
serve  to  bring  the  guests  down,  not  up,  to  the  hostess. 
No  more  becoming  settings  could  be  arranged.  For 
such  a  stairway,  filled  with  descending  figures  bright- 
ened by  the  gleam  of  jewels  and  sweeping  behind 
them  trains  of  shining  satins  or  rich  velvets,  makes  a 
picture  not  easily  forgotten.  No  lovely  woman  is 
ever  as  lovely  as  at  that  time;  no  man,  if  he  be  dis- 
tinguished at  all,  is  so  impressive. 

The  most  beautiful  example  I  know  is  here  in  New 
York  and  is  an  exact  copy  of  that  in  the  Grand  Tria- 
non at  Versailles.  The  side  walls  are  panelled  in  old 
Sicilian  marbles,  carved  in  high  relief.  At  the  head  of 
the  stairs  one  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  superb  tapes- 
tries of  the  upper  hall.  Over  a  turn  in  the  stairs  is 
suspended  a  silver  cathedral  lamp  of  great  beauty  and 
excellent  in  its  proportions.  Further  light  comes  from  the 
dome  above,  lighted  by  electricity  at  night.  The  stairs 
themselves  are  uncovered.  There  is  to  my  knowledge, 
no  other  in  this  country  like  it,  certainly  none  where 
the  impression  produced  is  so  inspiring  and  profound. 


2  2  Zl)C  1bou0e  Bignifie^ 

With  all  our  magnificence,  however,  we  have  not 
yet  attained  to  that  of  the  foreign  staircases  found 
in  certain  palaces,  where  the  panels  at  the  upper 
landing  are  framed  by  groups  of  sculptured  life-size 
figures,  the  work  of  the  best  artists  of  their  day.  Per- 
haps we  need  the  royal  interest  and  patronage,  perhaps 
we  have  more  conscience  than  to  drain  the  family 
coffers  at  all  costs.  For  whatever  reason,  we  see  only 
fragments  employed  here  and  there,  our  general 
habit  for  the  side  walls  of  our  staircases  being  to  use 
tapestries  and  portraits, — ^portraits  of  importance,  it 
must  be  said,  the  size  being  necessarily  considered. 
Spotty  little  pictures  arranged  along  the  side  walls  of 
steps  and  necessitating  frequent  pauses  for  minute 
examination  are  necessarily  out  of  the  question — or 
should  be. 

The  lighting  of  stairways  by  means  of  great  cathe- 
dral lamps  suspended  from  the  ceiling  adds  an  impos- 
ing touch.  The  size  of  the  lamp  and  the  massiveness 
of  the  great  retaining  chain  necessarily  suggest  height 
to  the  ceiling,  and  strength  to  the  whole  arrangement. 
Such  a  lamp,  too,  serves  to  break  up  the  feeling  of 
straight  Unes,  carrying  the  eye  off  in  new  and  agree- 
able directions. 

The  upright  Venetian  lanterns  placed  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  as  one  sees  them  in  the  Scuola  di  San 
Rocco,  lend  both  interest  and  dignity  to  the  stairs. 
These  upright  lanterns,  by  the  way,  seem  sometimes 
to  have  proved  mere  stumbling-blocks  to  their  fortu- 


McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

STAIRWAY  FROM  LOWER  HALL  OF  MR.  H.  W.  POOR'S  HOUSE,  GRAMERCY  PARK,  NEW  YORK  CITY 


Stairvvai?0  23 

nate  possessors.  One  runs  across  them  in  some  draw- 
ing-rooms, set  up  in  inappropriate  comers  and  for  no 
other  purpose  apparently  but  that  of  accentuating 
the  sum  of  a  man's  lucky  purchases.  They  are  ridicu- 
lous when  misplaced,  as  are  all  other  things  interesting 
in  themselves,  the  penalty  being  that  the  man  who 
arranges  his  possessions  badly  does  not  even  make 
a  museum  of  his  house,  but  a  bric-a-brac  shop,  where 
repose  is  impossible.  The  impression  of  a  lot  of  studio 
properties  having  been  tossed  carelessly  together  is 
produced  by  many  simiptuous  interiors,  the  cost  of 
whose  individual  elements  has  led  to  their  finding 
their  w^ay  into  print. 

The  placing  of  the  stairway  is  of  course  a  question 
of  considerable  moment.  In  this,  as  in  all  things  else 
relating  to  the  home,  the  householder  reveals  himself. 
He  must  prove  by  his  staircase  that  he  knows  how  to 
balance  his  social  and  domestic  life,  paying  no  such 
attention  to  one  set  of  interests  as  will  sacrifice  his 
obligations  to  another.  It  is  not  enough  to  have 
copied  some  superb  palatial  stairway  to  be  made 
conspicuous,  and  then  to  have  neglected  the  others, 
making  the  servants'  stairways  uncomfortable,  or 
those  to  a  third  floor  uninviting.  A  proper  respect 
must  be  shown  for  the  rightful  values  in  all  their  com- 
ponent parts.  Even  a  knowledge  of  periods  proved 
by  the  purchase  of  furniture,  or  the  proper  turn  of  a 
moulding,  does  not  entitle  the  taste  of  a  householder 
to    receive  the  crowning  stamp   of  excellence.     Yovi 


24  (Ibe  Ibouee  Blgnltleb 

must  look  for  such  evidences  in  the  general  arrange- 
ment of  the  house,  the  consideration  paid  to  every- 
body's comfort,  the  respect  observed  for  everybody's 
rights.  With  these,  of  course,  must  be  allied  the 
satisfaction  of  the  eye. 

I  know  one  most  lovely  stairway  which  in  its 
refinement  and  the  tact  displayed  in  its  position  stands 
for  all  that  is  best  in  the  mind  of  the  builder.  It  leads 
to  a  bedroom  floor.  On  all  the  other  stories,  even  on 
those  of  the  kitchen  and  pantry  floors,  marble  has 
been  used  in  stairway  and  wall.  Out  from  the  upper 
marble  hall,  with  its  tapestries  and  dome,  open  the  hall 
and  stairway  to  which  I  refer.  This  is  entirely  of  old 
black  oak  carved  in  high  relief,  on  doors  and  walls. 
The  transition  from  marble  to  wood  has,  however,  been 
made  agreeable,  the  marble  door-frame  being  wide 
and  deep  enough  to  suggest,  not  a  mere  opening  for 
the  holding  of  a  door,  but  a  sort  of  preparation  for  the 
mind  as  it  were,  a  leading  to  something  on  the  other 
side,  as  a  passage-way  would  have  prepared  it.  From 
the  carved  oak  hall,  then,  rises  the  oak  stairway  with 
its  uncarpeted  steps.  The  railing  and  post  are  elabo- 
rately carved.  Above  the  wainscot  the  side  walls 
to  the  ceiling  are  in  oak,  their  oblong  panels,  on  the 
level  above,  filled  with  paintings.  The  walls  run- 
ning by  the  bedroom  doors  are  covered  with  a 
deep  rich  red  damask,  the  transition  being  made 
by  a  series  of  arches  and  colimms  in  oak,  the  arches 
of  the  various  openings   being   capped  by  the   same 


STAIRWAY    IN    THE    PALACE    OF    FONTAINEBLEAU.        STYLE    OF    LOUIS    XV, 


McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 

STAIRWAY    IN    MR.  CLARENCE    MACKAY'S    HOUSE    AT    ROSI.YN,  LONG    ISLAND,  N.  Y. 


Stairwa^0  25 

ornamental  shell  which  appears  over  the  various 
openings  below. 

The  charm  of  this  stairway  is  one  that  never  palls. 
You  may  come  upon  it  again  and  again,  yet  it  is  always 
with  a  sense  of  refreshment  and  delight,  as  when  you 
find  a  flower  in  unexpected  places.  And  it  is  in  these 
unexpected  discoveries  in  houses  that  one  is  made  to 
feel  how  certain  and  how  unfailing  has  been  the  true 
appreciation  of  the  householder.  To  realise,  how- 
ever, how  rare  such  discoveries  are,  one  has  only  to 
remember  other  stairways  more  or  less  hidden  from 
the  general  eye,  and  upon  which  one,  after  having 
been  dazzled  with  the  glories  of  a  drawing-room  floor, 
stumbles  with  a  certain  pained  surprise. 

It  is  to  be  set  down  to  our  credit  that,  even  in 
ordinary  city  houses,  we  have  outgrown  our  desire  for 
too  obvious  stairways.  Attempts  are  everywhere 
being  made  to  lend  them  some  degree  at  least  of  pri- 
vacy, especially  in  houses  unprovided  with  a  sepa- 
rate staircase  for  servants. 

The  most  common  of  these  methods  is  that  of 
turning  the  steps  midway  in  their  flight,  bringing 
the  bottom  step  opposite  the  door  leading  into  the 
dining-room  or  pantry.  This  accomplishes  several 
purposes.  The  flight  from  the  kitchen  then  con- 
nects with  the  main  staircase,  the  servants  not  be- 
ing obliged  to  pass  by  the  front  door  in  order  to 
ascend  to  their  bedrooms  at  night.  When  the  street 
door  is  opened,  moreover,  one  is  not  confronted  by 


26  Zhc  fbonec  WignlUc^ 

ugly  steps,  but  by  a  more  or  less  decorative  balcony, 
placed  at  the  turning  of  the  stairs,  under  which  coat 
closets  may  be  arranged,  or  pier  glasses  and  seats,  for 
the  reception  of  wraps  belonging  to  visitors  disinclined 
to  mount  to  the  story  above. 

When  the  steps  have  not  been  turned,  still  other 
departures  have  been  made  to  add  an  element  of  dis- 
tinction. In  the  smaller  hall,  with  its  white  wooden 
panels  and  mirrored  doors,  described  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  great  dignity  has  been  added  by  a  wrought- 
iron  balustrade  of  charming  design.  The  hand-rail 
is  covered  with  a  deep  red  velvet,  the  stair-covering 
matching  it  in  colour.  Though  the  wooden  steps  have 
been  retained,  a  pinkish  marble,  matching  that  of  the 
console  under  the  mirror,  has  been  introduced  in  the 
lowest  step,  supporting  the  newel  post,  a  delicate 
touch,  giving  the  whole  arrangement  the  impression  of 
having  been  well  thought  out  and  considered.  This 
hall  is  lighted  by  a  Louis  Sixteenth  lustre,  or  chande- 
lier, holding  places  for  eight  candles.  Balloon-shaped, 
with  delightfully  balanced  projectors,  this  lustre  is 
made  of  beautifully  wrought  iron  and  steel,  the 
shining  surfaces  of  the  steel  being  repeated  in  the  rock- 
crystal  pendants  of  elongated  egg  shape.  To  the  gen- 
eral effect,  then,  of  cleanliness  and  light  produced  by 
the  white  wood-work  and  mirrors,  notes  of  real  dis- 
tinction have  been  added,  clear-cut  and  exact,  which 
at  once  lift  the  whole  stairway  and  hall  out  of  the 
ordinary. 


Stairwai^0  27 

A  still  more  beautiful  stairway  is  found  in  a  city 
house  of  ordinary  dimensions — that  is,  with  a  twenty- 
four-foot  front.  This  is  in  the  hall  of  Caen  stone,  to 
which  reference  has  also  been  made  in  the  preceding 
chapter  as  having  its  wall  surfaces  broken  by  arches 
into  which  mirrors  have  been  fitted.  Here  the  stairway, 
which  does  not  face  the  front  door,  but  is  to  the  right 
of  the  entrance,  has  been  made  to  follow  lines  of  en- 
chanting grace,  aerial  and  light  as  the  flight  of  a  swallow, 
charming  the  eye  and  alluring  the  fancy.  The  steps 
are  bare.  No  colour  is  introduced  anywhere  except  in 
the  black  of  the  iron  balustrade.  Yet  the  effect  of 
coldness  is  not  conveyed,  the  dignity  being  like  that 
of  the  nude  in  sculpture,  removed  by  its  very  essence 
from  the  reproach  of  the  conventions.  The  frank 
austerity  of  the  unrelieved  white,  lightened  only  by 
its  mirrors,  gains  a  quality  which  lends  to  a  more 
or  less  contracted  area  a  sense  of  spaciousness  and 
authority. 

What  I  always  carry  away  from  this  house  is  the 
impression  of  the  beauty  made  by  the  line  of  the 
stairs;  and  this  leads  me  to  say  how  much  I  have 
always  felt  indebted  to  the  man  (I  wish  I  knew  his 
name)  who  first  introduced  the  curve  into  a  flight 
of  steps — ^that  curve  which  carries  the  top  landing  out 
of  view  of  the  lower  step.  Straight  flights  are  for 
pageants,  or  for  purposes  of  pure  utility.  But  the 
curve,  or  bend,  is  for  all  that  is  graceful  and  lovely 
and  amenable  in  private  life.     It  beckons   you  like 


28  ^be  1bou0c  Bignitieb 

the  turn  of  a  pretty  girl's  head  over  her  shoulder. 
It  suggests  a  certain  mystery,  the  promise  of  possible 
good  things  awaiting  you  at  the  top,  the  not-quite- 
knowing  just  how  delightful  the  reward  of  your  real 
welcome  may  be.  It  should  be  like  the  ascent  of  a 
hill  in  this,  encouraging  you  to  the  trouble  of  mounting 
for  the  sake  of  that  which,  when  the  summit  is  reached, 
will  lie  outspread  before  you.  For  this  reason  a  flight 
of  steps  which  leads  nowhere  except  into  stretches 
of  emptiness  beyond  has  a  rude  and  disappointing 
quality  about  it,  chilling  your  enthusiasm,  and  check- 
ing you  with  a  well- justified  sense  of  disappointment 
and  chagrin. 

In  houses  where  the  lay-out  of  the  street  or  grounds 
permits  light  to  enter  from  several  sides,  and  the  hall 
and  stairway  fill  the  central  part,  as  they  did  in  the  old 
New  England  house,  the  flight  is  often  broken  by 
landings.  Above  these  landings,  in  the  newer  houses 
of  to-day,  windows  are  placed,  sometimes  of  great 
architectural  beauty.  Hangings  for  them  must  depend, 
of  course,  upon  the  nearness  of  the  neighbours'  eyes. 
Although  this  arrangement  of  the  stairs  brings  the  first 
turn  of  the  steps  facing  the  front  door,  you  are  not 
made  to  feel  their  obtrusiveness.  That  uncomfortable 
impression  is  spared  you  by  two  things — the  breaking 
of  the  flight  by  the  platform,  and  the  introduction  of 
the  windows,  which  carry  the  vision  off  as  it  were. 

These  platforms  are  treated  with  formality,  nothing 
being  permitted  to  detain  you  except  a  chair,  perhaps, 


'■ISg*   f" 


in  case  your  breath  is  lost.  A  table  sometimes  holds 
flowers  or  plants,  a  pedestal  supports  a  Greek  urn,  but 
the  unimportant  and  the  trivial  are  not  permitted. 

The  insistence  upon  this  point  may  seem  unneces- 
sary, and  would  be  did  not  one  find  it  everywhere 
violated.  The  temptation  to  the  inconsequential  mind 
is  always  to  overdo,  to  go  about  hunting  for  places 
for  things,  instead  of  putting  away  and  out  of  sight 
those  things  which  do  not  belong  in  given  places. 
The  too  obtrusive  palm  with  its  projecting  branches 
has  no  right  on  a  stairway  up  and  down  which  people 
may  be  forced  to  hurry.  Neither  have  pots  of  flowers 
tied  up  with  ridiculous  paper  and  bows  of  ribbon  to 
match.  Nor  yet  again  have  books;  yet  books,  odd  as 
it  may  seem,  are  sometimes  introduced  into  formal 
halls,  the  niches  along  a  flight  of  stairs  being  all  too 
frequently  furnished  with  shelves,  holding  ornamental 
bindings.  The  only  thing  proper  for  such  a  niche  is  a 
bust  or  a  bronze,  something  which  suggests  an  architec- 
tural forethought,  a  preparation  for  good  things. 

The  mental  constitution  of  those  who  are  con- 
stantly breaking  the  perfectly  obvious  laws  of  a  proper 
distribution  of  household  properties  is  an  ever-present 
subject  of  perplexity  to  one  who  enters  many  portals. 
One  cannot  help  wondering  of  what,  for  instance,  men 
and  women  are  made  who  make  it  necessary  for  them- 
selves to  leave  the  quiet  of  a  library  and  descend 
half-way  down  a  flight  of  stairs,  in  order  to  get  a  book 
which  never  should  have  been  placed  there.     Nothing 


30  Zl)t  Ibouse  Bignittct) 

but  the  exigencies  of  apartment  life  warrants  such 
a  distribution  of  books,  and  even  then  they  would  not 
be  found  on  flights  of  steps,  since  few  new  apartments 
are  provided  with  them. 

Now  and  then  one  finds  an  Eastern  rug  tortured 
into  service  as  a  stair-covering,  its  figures  crinkled 
into  the  confining  grip  of  the  stair-rod.  This  use  of 
the  rug  is  an  illegitimate  application  of  a  beautiful 
object,  designed  to  be  outspread.  Marble  steps  should 
be  bare,  and  all  stair-coverings  should  be  plain  and 
uniform  in  tint.  On  colonial  stairs,  with  their  delicate 
spindle  railings,  the  carpet  was  held  in  place  by  brass 
stair-rods  kept  as  carefully  polished  as  the  silver  on  the 
sideboard,  or  the  knocker  on  the  front  door.  The 
newel-posts  were  charming,  surmounted  by  a  brass 
ornament  or  a  glass  ball,  and  in  our  houses  copied 
from  these  models  these  questions  of  detail  are  always 
considered. 

I  cannot  close  this  chapter  without  referring  to 
two  charming  stairways  both  of  which  are  in  country 
houses.  In  each  instance,  one  must  turn  a  comer 
to  reach  them,  the  length  of  the  hall  being  left  to 
convey  its  full  purpose  and  impressiveness.  Round 
the  comer,  then,  of  one  hall  rises  a  carved  oak  stair- 
case, its  flight  broken  by  a  platform  that  is  lighted 
by  a  leaded  window.  From  this  window  one  sees  a 
stretch  of  lovely  country,  broken  by  hills  and  brightened 
by  a  river.  Nothing  else,  however,  is  allowed  to  dis- 
tract you  as  you  turn. 


stairways  31 

In  the  other  instance,  the  hall  itself  gives  you  a 
view  of  outside  things.  At  one  end  and  at  right  angles 
to  the  entrance  door  is  a  large  plate-glass  window: 
against  this  trees  grow  so  close  that  they  seem  to  be 
brought  into  the  house  itself.  Not  to  make  the 
arrangement  too  obvious  the  space  under  the  window 
is  finished  in  carved  stone,  from  which  an  ItaUan 
fountain  plays  into  a  stone  pool,  filled  with  water 
plants  and  vines  that  grow  up  to  the  window.  From 
the  other  end  of  the  hall  and  through  the  door  opening 
out  on  the  terrace,  one  gets  a  view  of  forty  miles  of 
verdure,  a  line  of  hills  against  the  faint  horizon.  The 
stairs  are  found  where  they  will  interfere  with  no 
one,  turning  in,  as  they  do,  from  an  angle  of  the  hall 
nearest  the  entrance  door.  A  platform  breaks  the 
flight  half-way  up,  securing  privacy  for  the  final  pause. 
Above  this  platform  is  a  window  of  stained  glass, 
with  softly  tempered  lights  and  tones,  recalling  the 
woodlands. 


Chapter  III 

Dining-Rooms 

TN  a  country  so  distinguished  for  hospitality  as  otir 
own  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  our  dining- 
rooms  should  have  reached  their  present  stage  of 
magnificence.  Fewer  mistakes,  too,  are  apparent  in 
them;  possibly  because,  as  has  just  been  hinted,  the 
love  of  dinner-giving  is  strong  among  us,  and  certain 
customs  long  established.  Then,  again,  the  question 
of  furniture  being  more  or  less  limited  to  a  question 
of  sideboards  and  chairs,  the  householder  has  suffered 
fewer  temptations  to  obtrude,  as  in  salons  and  libra- 
ries, individual  idiosyncrasies  of  taste — those  little  and 
distracting  notes  which  go  to  the  making  of  such 
misery  in  rooms  where  a  feeling  for  the  best  has  not 
been  cultivated  and  mental  limitations  obtrude  them- 
selves— ^the  not  knowing  exactly  how  to  prepare  for 
various  unaccustomed  social  departures. 

In  dining-rooms,  moreover,  there  is  less  chance 
to  blunder  over  questions  of  colour,  that  grievous 
stumbling-block  to  rich  and  poor  alike,  and  which  is 
independent  of  the  purchasing  power,  and  as  problem- 


<  w 


O     Q 


O     O 

a      ri 


Dlning^lRoome  33 

atical  in  costly  fabrics  as  in  those  which  are  pur- 
chased for  a  song.  For  the  feeHng  for  tones  is  a  gift, 
its  possession  conveyed  by  fine,  undeniable,  and 
subtly  conveyed  evidences,  about  which  there  can  be 
no  dispute.  It  is  the  absence  of  this  gift  which  mars 
many  an  interior,  just  as  irrevocably  as  a  painter's  in- 
appreciation  of  colour-values  mars  his  canvas,  though 
his  drawing  may  be  good.  On  the  other  hand,  how 
beautiful  are  those  rooms,  whether  sumptuous  or 
simple,  in  which  the  right  relations  of  tones  have  been 
observed.  What  repose  one  feels  in  them,  what  de- 
light, and  how  few  of  those  there  are! 

There  is  still  another  reason  why  our  dining-rooms 
are  for  the  most  part  good.  In  them  the  architect 
has  been  allowed  freer  scope,  not  being  confronted  at  so 
many  turns  by  the  insistence  upon  a  respect  being 
paid  certain  family  customs,  brought  over,  maybe, 
from  another  environment,  as  when  a  salon  is  not 
permitted  to  retain  its  purely  formal  character,  but 
must  possess  comers  in  which  a  child  may  lounge, 
or  the  daily  practice  of  the  piano  go  on.  The  archi- 
tect, therefore,  has  in  many  instances  given  us  rooms 
of  great  beauty,  which  even  without  furniture  are  a 
delight  in  themselves — often  a  greater  delight,  alas! 
since  the  introduction  of  accessories  has  sometimes 
spoiled  everything.  Thus  I  know  a  dining-room  of 
noble  proportions,  finished  in  a  delightfully  grained 
mahogany,  which  has  been  altogether  ruined  by  stuffy 
hangings,  btirdened  with  enormous  cords  and  tassels 


34  ^be  Ibouse  Bignlfieb 

like  those  found  in  old-fashioned  clubs,  the  spaces 
about  the  windows  filled  with  upholstered  sofas  and 
chairs — and  this  in  a  country  house,  where  no  exi- 
gencies of  space,  as  in  conventional  city  houses,  make 
necessary  the  use  of  the  dining-room  for  the  reading 
of  the  morning  paper,  or  the  indulgence  of  the  after- 
dinner  cigar.  And  apart  from  all  questions  of  taste 
or  knowledge  there  is  a  reason  for  our  protests  against 
certain  of  these  desecrations,  since  the  last  thing  one 
wants  in  a  dining-room  of  any  kind  is  a  feeling  of 
stuffiness — ^hangings  which  will  hold  for  the  space 
of  so  much  as  a  moment  the  faintest  suggestion  of 
yesterday's  feast.  One  wants  cheer,  the  perennially 
fresh  and  unspoiled,  the  charm  of  the  single  occasion 
as  it  were,  like  that  which  one  feels  in  the  flowers  adorn- 
ing the  table.  The  frame  for  all  this  may  vary,  be 
dark  or  light,  according  as  one  wants  to  feel  shut  in 
at  the  dining  hour  or  expansive,  the  eye  being  carried 
beyond  as  by  a  view  from  the  window,  or  by  the  airy 
lightness  of  the  surrounding  walls.  But,  whether  dark 
or  light,  this  frame  must  first  accentuate  the  feeling 
of  the  present  and  the  evanescent  hour. 

The  most  important  dining-rooms  of  to-day  are 
hung  with  tapestries,  or  panelled  in  woods,  the  lines 
being  broken  up  by  the  introduction  of  columns,  some- 
times of  marble  and  sometimes  of  wood.  The  treat- 
ment of  the  wood  varies :  now  it  is  painted  and  relieved 
by  colour,  now  stained,  and  now  only  polished.  It  is 
often  carved,  but  when  the  beauty  of  the  grain  has 


been  considered  the  surfaces  are  left  plain.  Oak, 
chestnut,  walnut,  mahogany,  and  satinwood  are  among 
those  oftenest  seen. 

When  oak  has  been  treated  with  a  dull  grey  stain 
having  in  it  the  merest  suggestion  of  green,  like  that 
which  one  finds  on  oak  benches  scattered  through 
French  forests,  one  has  a  wall  surface  of  exquisite 
charm,  into  which  almost  any  mood  may  melt.  There 
is  a  dining-room  in  town  finished  in  this  way,  the 
oak  being  broken  into  panels  of  delightful  proportions, 
running  from  the  baseboard  to  the  panelled  ceiling, 
which  is  upheld  by  a  cornice.  The  faint  suggestion  of 
the  green  seems  almost  to  have  demanded  the  pres- 
ence of  the  growing  things  found  in  this  particular 
room,  in  one  swelled  comer  of  which,  and  against  the 
light  of  the  window,  there  is  a  white  marble  Byzan- 
tine temple,  ornamented  by  a  line  of  green  mosaic,  its 
interior  filled  with  masses  of  azaleas  and  maidenhair, 
played  upon  by  sprays  of  trickling  water.  When  it 
is  remembered  how  seldom  the  necessity  for  growing 
things  is  felt  in  most  dining-rooms,  it  will  easily  be 
seen  how  surely  the  subtler  relationships  have  been 
considered  in  this  one. 

And  without  this  consideration,  no  room,  no  matter 
where  it  may  be  found,  can  be  expected  to  convey 
a  sense  of  entire  satisfaction.  For  decoration  must 
submit  itself  to  the  same  laws  as  those  governing  the 
rest  of  the  arts.  Questions  of  relationships  must 
enter    in — relationships    in    colour,    design,    and    ap- 


36  ^be  Ibouee  Bignifieb 

pointment.  There  must  also  be  considered  another 
important  question,  relating  to  the  treatment  of  sub- 
ordinate parts,  especially  of  those  which  are  more  or 
less  concealed.  Some  decorators  go  so  far  as  to  declare, 
indeed,  that  the  best  things  in  a  house  ought  always 
to  be  placed  where  one  comes  upon  them  unexpectedly 
■ — never,  of  course,  where  they  are  obtruded  into  being 
designedly  or  inappropriately  conspicuous;  as  in  ex- 
tremely exaggerated  cases  of  unfitness  one  sometimes 
finds  a  housekeeper  of  limited  possessions  displaying 
a  highly  ornamental  lamp  among  the  inflammable 
draperies  of  a  window,  for  no  other  purpose  than  that 
the  street  may  be  regaled,  and  her  good  fortune 
paraded. 

In  the  dining-room,  then,  of  which  we  have  been 
speaking,  there  is  a  doorway  leading  into  the  pantry 
— a  doorway  placed  round  a  comer  formed  by  an 
angle  of  the  wall,  and  therefore  not  to  be  immediately 
perceived  by  those  who  enter  the  room.  Of  carved 
stone,  and  ornamented  with  sculptured  figures,  this 
doorway,  however,  is  one  before  which  those  who 
discover  it  love  to  linger,  so  full  of  beauty  is  it,  so 
delightful  in  its  colour  and  proportions,  and  so  re- 
spectful of  its  uses !  How  often  does  one  find  a  pantry 
door  like  it?  No  screen,  however  superb  in  itself, 
could  replace  the  quiet  dignity  of  this  entrance,  nor 
could  any  doorway  more  or  less  conspicuous  command 
for  itself  the  homage  which  this  one  excites  by  its 
silent,  self-respecting  seclusion. 


And,  while  still  discussing  this  room,  it  may  be  as 
well  to  draw  attention  to  still  another  of  its  lovely 
elements.  The  plants  introduced  are  not  palms,  those 
much-used  and  over-abused  potted  affairs,  which  are 
considered  necessary  wherever  a  floral  decoration  is 
required,  and  without  regard  to  their  surroundings. 
In  certain  interiors  of  palatial  proportions,  they  are, 
when  massed,  all  that  is  possible.  I  mean  no  criticism 
of  these,  but  for  all  that  no  one  can  deny  that  we  have 
all  been  suffering  a  kind  of  madness  for  the  palm  in  a 
pot.  Go  into  almost  any  house,  open  almost  any 
book  on  decoration,  and,  as  some  clever  man  pointed 
out  to  me  the  other  day,  the  potted  palm  will  be 
discovered,  placed  somewhere,  an3rwhere,  without 
regard  to  its  fitness  for  that  place,  and  almost  al- 
ways without  adding  to  it  one  element  of  grace  or 
beauty.  Yet  a  palm  most  people  will  have,  even  at 
times  in  a  bathroom.  It  is  so  easily  ordered,  and 
saves  so  much  expenditure  of  thought !  The  palm  has 
little  beauty  when  placed  alone.  To  feel  its  charm  one 
should  see  it  in  masses,  feel  it  in  suggestion  with  other 
greens  as  one  does  in  tropical  gardens.  When  scat- 
tered at  random  in  houses,  not  massed  as  it  should  be, 
such  beauty  as  it  possessed  out  of  doors  is  lost,  no 
matter  how  gorgeous  the  pot  that  holds  it,  or  costly 
the  marble  urn.  No  real  plant-  or  flower-lover  uses  it 
in  such  indiscriminate  fashion.  He  seeks  for  that 
which  will  lend  itself  to  the  quiet  of  the  indoor  life. 
But  then,   a  volume  might  be  written  on  this  one 


38  ^be  Ibouse  Bignifiet) 

subject  alone.  My  object  in  touching  at  all  upon  the 
subject  here  is  to  prove  how  wide  the  field  may  be, 
and  how  necessary  it  is  that  a  certain  intelligence 
shall  be  exercised.  For  the  evidence  of  a  right  ap- 
preciation of  values  is  as  essential  where  plants  are 
used  in  decoration  as  where  any  other  appointment 
of  the  house  may  be  concerned.  The  individual  taste, 
the  aesthetic  equipment,  must  as  certainly  be  proved, 
although  the  necessity  for  proving  it  is  seldom  touched 
upon. 

There  are  other  dining-rooms  in  panelled  oak, 
where  none  of  this  demand  for  growing  things  is  felt, 
possibly  because  the  darker  tones  of  the  wood-work 
suggest  none,  or  possibly  because  the  out-of-doors  is 
felt  through  the  windows.  This  is  particularly  true  of 
country  dining-rooms,  and  of  one  especially  which  I 
have  in  mind,  where  the  oak  is  almost  black.  Here 
the  necessity  for  a  certain  relief  is  satisfied  by  the 
green  of  the  tapestry  hangings,  fitted  over  doorways 
and  windows,  giving  to  the  room  just  the  suggestion 
of  tone  which  transforms  it  at  once.  Into  this  room, 
again,  the  appreciation  of  fine  relationships  enters. 
The  windows  are  leaded,  and  the  visitor  is  spared  the 
shock  of  being  confronted  by  enormous  sheets  of  solid 
plate  glass,  a  feature  which  spoils  so  many  another 
panelled  chamber.  Over  the  leaded  panels  the  sheerest 
net  is  hung,  in  no  way  interfering  with  the  feeling 
of  green  stretches  beyond.  Nor  does  any  confusion 
of  variously  considered  draperies,  sometimes  so  neces- 


BininG^'IRoome  39 

sary  in  town,  mar  the  general  impression.  The  fitted 
tapestry  of  lambrequin  and  curtain  breaks  up  the 
line,  gives  colour,  but  preserves  the  dignity  of  the 
openings.  It  betrays,  too,  a  sureness  of  touch,  and 
inspires  you  with  the  conviction  that  the  problem 
has  been  thought  out  from  the  beginning.  The  side- 
board in  this  room  is  of  very  old  oak,  absolutely  simple 
in  its  lines,  and  suggesting  great  antiquity,  as  do  the 
serving-tables  and  chairs.  One  knows  at  once  that 
EngHsh  traditions  have  been  followed,  and  the  Ja- 
cobean period — but  then  styles  are  an  ever-present 
snare  in  these  days,  among  which  even  angels  some- 
times fear  to  tread!  One  feels,  however,  the  epoch 
here,  and  recognises  the  knowledge  displayed  in  de- 
tails, especially  in  those  which  concern  themselves 
with  the  distribution  of  lights  and  the  form  of  the 
fixtures. 

Now  and  then  one  comes  across  a  dining-room 
in  which  one  feels  as  surely  that  the  architect's  work 
in  its  finer  touches  has  been  subordinated  to,  or  at 
least  guided  by,  the  taste  of  the  owner.  I  know  one, 
for  example,  an  oblong  room  of  stately  proportions 
with  a  swelled  bay  at  one  end,  its  opening  supported 
by  two  marble  columns  showing  seven  colours,  sup- 
porting a  capital  of  more  than  usual  delicacy  and 
grace.  Two  wooden  columns,  once  part  of  some  Sici- 
lian chapel,  form  the  framework  of  the  entrance  door, 
the  over-door  being  finished  in  an  arch  of  the  same 
material  and  design.     A  blue,  now  faded  into  charming 


40  ^be  Ibouse  Blgnifieb 

tones,  colours  the  wood,  while  over  this  blue  there  is 
wrought  a  design  in  gold,  showing  leaves  and  vines, 
carved  in  relief,  among  which  charming  cupids  dis- 
port themselves.  The  sideboard,  from  some  other 
part  of  the  chapel,  follows  the  same  design  and  colour. 
No  silver  is  permanently  displayed  on  it;  some  rare 
old  drinking-cups  and  chalices  are  set  out  instead 
and  protected  by  glass  fitted  to  the  front.  For  among 
the  blues  and  golds,  it  was  instantly  felt,  silver,  how- 
ever rich  in  itself  would  have  struck  a  jarring  note. 

The  wall-spaces  of  this  room  are  covered  with 
tapestry,  in  which  again  the  blue  is  felt,  now  in  a 
patch  of  sky,  and  now  in  the  sweep  of  a  royal  robe. 
The  ceiling  is  carved,  the  cupids  of  the  columns  being 
repeated  here,  while  the  panels  are  filled  with  lovely 
designs  in  colour.  The  lights  are  hidden  in  the  cornice, 
but  there  are  two  huge  gold  candelabra,  resting  on 
ornamented  columns,  placed  on  either  side  of  the 
room.  The  chairs  are  covered  with  a  blue,  deep 
enough  in  tone  to  be  felt  rather  than  seen,  the  backs 
being  capped  by  small  gilded  ornaments.  The  cur- 
tains are  of  blue,  showing  the  same  charming  sub- 
ordination of  tone.  Thus  the  room  has  everywhere 
been  made  to  preserve  a  certain  ensemble,  being  tied 
together  by  colour  as  it  were,  a  colour  so  reposeful 
and  enveloping  that  at  no  time  is  one  suddenly  aroused 
to  look  at  some  special  object.  The  influence  of  it  all 
comes  gradually,  and  never  as  a  question  of  mere 
magnificence,  but  as  that  of  a  lovely  atmosphere  in 


which  individual  elements  of  beauty  gradually  unfold 
themselves.  And  this,  it  would  seem,  is  the  final 
requirement  of  all  interiors.  They  are  first  enveloping. 
You  may  get  their  atmosphere  at  once,  be  played 
upon  by  their  colour,  and  feel  their  charm,  but  the 
perception  of  even  their  unrivalled  details  must  come 
to  you  later.  Occasions  must  open  your  eyes,  moods, 
necessities.  They  are  like  the  htiman  character  in  that, 
and  must  develop  reserve  powers,  else  all  you  thought 
excellent  at  first  is  as  a  mere  flash  in  the  pan,  quickly 
past  and  forgotten. 

No  one  who  goes  into  the  more  important  houses 
of  the  day  can  fail  to  be  impressed  by  the  fact  that 
two  orders  of  mind  have  been  at  work.  There  is  first 
the  colourist,  the  man  who  wants  richness,  warmth, 
tone,  magnificence,  at  any  cost.  Then  there  is  the 
man  whose  allegiance  to  the  beauty  of  a  line  is  un- 
swerving, and  who  will  not  permit  so  much  as  a  tone 
to  distract  you  from  the  grace  of  an  arch.  Imagina- 
tion has  therefore  run  riot  in  some  of  our  dining-rooms. 
Palaces  and  churches  have  been  robbed  to  add  to  their 
splendours.  Superb  stuffs  and  hangings  have  been 
introduced,  crystal  lustres  and  silver  lamps,  with 
those  sometimes  of  brass — that  richest  and  most 
beautiful  of  all  reflecting  surfaces.  In  what  are  called 
our  state  dining-rooms,  the  models  for  which  are 
either  copies  or  adaptations  of  famous  foreign  rooms, 
the  architect  has  allowed  no  limitations  to  his  flights, 
but  has  gone  on  piling  splendour  on  splendour,  adding 


42  Zhc  Ibouse  Bignitieb 

arch  to  arch,  and  pillar  to  pillar,  splashing  on  gold  with 
reckless  profusion,  and  hanging  crystals  wherever 
their  gleam  could  make  for  a  greater  resplendence. 

In  contrast  to  these,  there  are  to  be  found  dining- 
rooms  which  by  very  contrast  seem  austere,  nothing 
being  permitted,  even  in  the  way  of  colour,  which 
might  possibly  interfere  with  the  repose  of  a  given  line. 
I  have  one  such  room  in  mind,  the  white  wooden 
surfaces  of  which  are  broken  into  panels  forming 
sunken  arches  of  charming  design.  A  soft  pale  grey 
hangs  at  the  windows,  the  sideboard  is  filled  with 
cut  glass,  no  colour  being  anywhere  permitted.  Yet, 
oddly  enough,  no  sense  of  coldness  is  conveyed ;  rather 
a  feeling  of  satisfaction  and  refreshment,  a  feeling  im- 
possible in  any  other  white  room  where  the  touch  has 
been  less  certain,  and  the  proportions  less  carefully 
preserved.  I  have  seen  other  rooms  where  the  same 
attempt  has  been  made,  but  they  have  been  white 
rooms  relieved  by  a  colour,  and  ahvays  demanding 
the  extraneous,  to  give  them  a  habitable  quality. 
A  repose,  difficult  to  describe,  steals  over  the  visitor, 
in  this  one.  The  eye,  never  carried  anywhere  against 
its  will,  is  yet  made  to  rest  comfortably  wherever  it 
strays.  The  table,  too,  with  its  flowers,  gains  a  new 
quality,  becoming  as  it  were  the  centre  for  disseminat- 
ing cheer,  rather  than  the  point  toward  which  the 
interests  converge. 

A  strict  accord  to  periods  can  be  followed  in  dining- 
rooms  without  suggesting,   as  in  certain  salons,  the 


need  of  adjustments  to  modern  social  requirements. 
For  they  dined  well  in  England  at  least,  a  century 
or  more  ago,  and  in  environments  which,  for  beauty 
of  detail  and  provision  for  pleasure,  have  never  been 
outrivalled  by  any  other  school.  A  dining-room, 
therefore,  copied  from  those  of  Great  Britain,  and  ap- 
pointed as  they  were,  is  sure  to  be  one  possessing  all 
that  makes  for  dignity,  hospitality,  and  impressiveness. 
In  one  of  our  town  houses  copied  from  an  Adam  in 
London,  the  dining-room  has  all  these  enviable  qual- 
ities. It  is  of  white,  with  door  and  window  openings 
following  reposeful  classic  lines.  The  same  severity 
yet  charm  of  line,  though  more  delicate,  is  seen  in  the 
fireplace.  To  relieve  the  effect  of  too  much  white, 
four  great  paintings,  dark  and  rich  in  tone,  fill  as  many 
panels,  running  to  the  ceiling.  Four  paintings  of 
smaller  size  are  introduced  into  the  ceiling.  Mahogany 
furniture  is  used,  the  sideboard  set  out  with  old  English 
silver  of  wonderfully  beautiful  forms.  To  further  re- 
lieve the  room  some  wonderful  tripods  appear,  their 
basins  holding  growing  plants.  Nothing  that  is  not 
genuine  is  permitted  here.  Any  of  the  Georges  would 
have  felt  at  once  at  home. 

The  need  of  an  occasional  escape  from  the  very 
size  of  some  of  these  apartments  has  led  to  the  creation 
of  some  lovely  breakfast-rooms,  places  in  which  the 
intimate  word  is  now  and  then  possible  over  the  morn- 
ing coffee,  or  even  a  dinner  may  be  had,  when  the 
stress  of  more  exacting  obligations  has  laid  waste  the 


44  ^be  Ibouee  2)ionifie^ 

powers.  These  rooms  are  never  large  and  are  almost 
always  simple,  in  their  freedom  from  excess  of  orna- 
mentation, although  the  elements  entering  into  their 
construction  may  be  of  the  richest  character.  One 
such  room  stands  pre-eminent.  Its  doors  are  of  un- 
usual beauty,  each  having  a  large  egg-shaped  panel  of 
exquisitely  grained  and  highly  polished  yellow  satin- 
wood,  framed  by  a  wood  of  darker  tone.  These  woods 
appear  everywhere  about  the  room,  and  are  par- 
ticularly happy  in  the  window  framing.  The  walls 
are  covered  with  a  pale  green  striped  silk,  while  the 
ceiling,  in  still  paler  green,  is  ornamented  with  white 
traceries  in  some  lovely  Adam  design.  The  egg-shaped 
table,  like  the  doors,  is  made  of  polished  satin  wood, 
bordered  by  marquetry  in  darker  wood.  Two  unique 
commodes  in  marquetry  complete  the  furnishings. 
The  silver  is  old  English. 

Sometimes  one  of  these  breakfast-rooms  is  copied 
after  an  English  model  in  oak  or  chintz,  and  some- 
times after  one  of  France  with  panelled  walls  and 
mirrors.  Again  it  is  made  to  express  simply  some 
happy  combination  of  architectural  features,  as  when 
mauve  and  violet,  gold  and  white,  or  gold  and  blue, 
or  pale  creams  and  silver  enter  in.  Something  still 
more  important  is  now  and  then  attempted,  and  marble 
is  employed.  Opening  out  of  a  small  conservatory  in 
an  up- town  house  there  is  such  a  room,  its  domed 
white  ceiling  supported  by  marble  columns  of  great 
delicacy  and  grace.     Rugs  are  scattered  on  the  floor. 


2)imng*lRoom0  45 

The  eastern  sun,  playing  over  the  plants  and  catching 
the  iridescent  light  of  tiny  water  sprays,  flings  them 
about  over  column  and  cloth.  An  ideal  place  surely 
in  which  to  attune  one's  self  for  the  daily  distractions 
of  the  street. 

With  settings  so  elaborate  as  some  of  those  just 
described,  it  follows  as  a  matter  of  course  that  the 
appointments  of  the  table  must  have  a  proportionate 
splendour.  And  there  is  hardly  any  extreme  of  luxury 
and  extravagance  to  which  the  modem  requirement 
has  not  carried  us.  All  Europe  has  been  ransacked 
for  these,  and  entire  services  of  gold  are  not  uncommon. 
Linens,  too,  are  sometimes  woven  following  some 
design  specially  reserved  for  a  particular  householder. 
Laces  of  great  richness  are  applied  both  in  table-cloth 
and  napkins.  Glass  is  blown  to  order,  silver  beaten, 
and  porcelains  baked.  Yet  here  again,  and  once 
more,  I  must  dwell  upon  the  individual  touch.  None 
of  this  magnificence  has  real  value  without  this  touch. 
Nothing  must  look  as  if  it  had  been  left  for  mere 
money  to  buy,  certainly  nothing  in  the  way  of  a  flower, 
though  this  unhappily  is  the  impression  which  many 
a  diner  carries  away.  The  conventional  floral  arrange- 
ment set  down  in  the  midst  of  the  surrounding  mag- 
nificence cheapens  everything,  showing  that  no  more 
attention  has  been  paid  to  the  feast  for  the  eye  than 
to  that  for  the  palate.  And  yet  it  would  seem  that 
flowers  should  do  this  very  thing,  carrying  the  eye 
away   from   the   plate,    as   conversation   carries   the 


46  ^be  fboxxBC  Digniticb 

thought.  One  does  not  want  to  be  made  to  remember 
how  many  dozen  American  Beauties  were  in  the  room, 
but  only  to  carry  away  the  impression  of  fragrance 
and  colour.  Some  presiding  intelligence  must  be  at 
work;  some  assurance  felt  that  it  has  been  exercised. 
I  remember  one  dinner  in  which  the  splendours  of 
surrounding  tapestries  and  gold,  all  the  elaboration 
of  sauces  and  entries,  all  the  array  of  fruits  both  in  and 
out  of  season,  were  forgotten  in  the  beauty  of  a  bowl 
of  faint  mauve  and  white  lilacs,  arranged  so  that  the 
delicate  green  of  the  leaf  and  the  faint  tracings  of  the 
dark  stems  made  a  picture  that  lifted  the  dinner  into  a 
never-forgotten  memory  of  the  satisfied  esthetic  sense. 
For  some  reason  or  other  the  more  important  town 
dining-rooms  of  to-day  indicate  no  tendency  to  return 
to  Colonial  models.  For  these  one  must  look  among 
the  simpler  houses,  the  houses  done  over,  or  those 
newly  built  on  private  country  places.  Yet  Colonial 
dining-rooms  were  always  dignified,  and  full  of  hos- 
pitable spirit,  living  embodiments,  many  of  them,  of 
undeniable  and  delightful  traditions.  The  polish  of 
their  mahogany,  both  on  table  and  in  wainscot,  and  the 
gleam  of  their  crystal  and  silver,  possessed  a  charm 
which  was  never  to  be  denied.  Brocades  were  at  home 
in  these  old  rooms,  laces,  powdered  locks.  Fine  cus- 
toms prevailed,  and  courtliness  was  not  uncommon. 
For  all  that,  no  modem  householder  of  enormous  wealth 
thinks  of  reviving  their  memories,  although  the  prevail- 
ing notes  were  those  of  refinement  and  quiet  charm. 


Chapter  IV 

Salons  and  Drawing-Rooms 

A  NY  one  attempting  a  discussion  of  American 
houses  as  they  are  developing  around  us  to-day 
must  inevitably,  as  the  discussion  proceeds,  become 
more  and  more  conscious  of — even  to  the  point  of 
being  hampered  by — a  certain  feeling  of  reluctance,  in 
regard  to  approaching  at  all  so  delicate  a  field,  one 
in  which  the  subject-matter,  from  its  very  essence, 
involves  questions  of  encroachment  upon  private 
reserves. 

The  work  of  the  architect  presents  to  the  critic 
no  such  embarrassing  issues  for  the  architects.  His 
results,  so  far  as  their  exteriors  are  concerned,  are 
open-air  contributions  to  the  aesthetic  progress  of  his 
time — public  properties,  as  it  were,  challenging  com- 
ment. Even  his  interior  work,  if  it  possesses  merit,  is 
like  every  other  work  of  art,  and  must  subject  itself 
to  a  criticism  in  which,  when  final  judgments  are 
rendered,  no  questions  of  violating  laws  of  hospitality, 
and  none  of  respecting  affronted  dignities,  can  have 
weight.  It  is  where  the  owner's  work  becomes  ap- 
parent,   that   the    reviewer's   embarrassment    begins, 

47 


Salon0  an^  2)rawina*1Room6  49 

is  confined  to  a  limited  area.  Certainly,  none  of  it 
has  as  yet  led  to  such  a  revival  of  the  arts  as  would 
entitle  their  work  to  take  rank  with  that  of  the  great 
women  of  old.  Most  of  what  they  have  done,  too, 
as  it  comes  under  the  jurisdiction  of  what  is  called 
the  home,  is  naturally  protected  from  the  inroads  of 
public  curiosity.  One  feels  like  a  housebreaker,  who 
enters  to  take  notes. 

In  no  part  of  his  work,  therefore,  does  the  reviewer 
experience  a  greater  hesitation  in  speaking,  than  when 
he  is  called  upon  to  discuss  the  salons  and  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  day — those  parts  of  a  house  which  are 
set  apart  for  the  reception  and  entertainment  of  guests, 
and  which  should,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  repre- 
sent the  crowning  glory  of  a  dwelling-place.  For  in 
salons,  as  any  one  must  recognise,  no  questions  of 
utility  pure  and  simple  should  have  been  compelling, 
making  a  justifiable  though  regrettable  excuse  for  the 
disregard  of  the  gracious  and  the  beautiful.  One 
recognises  instantly  that  here  is  a  region  where  a  man 
or  woman  must  prove  other  things  besides  a  possession 
of  the  domestic  virtues.  In  a  salon,  indeed,  one  must 
give  evidence  of  one's  all-round  equipment  for  the 
place  that  one  holds  in  the  world,  prove  how  well  one 
knows  how  to  carry  on  the  social  relations,  what  one 
has  to  contribute  in  the  way  of  grace  and  charm,  of 
fine  taste  and  cultivated  instincts,  of  a  love  and  under- 
standing of  the  beautiful,  not  only  for  one's  own  de- 
lectation, but  as  a  setting,  to  lend  harmony  to  the 


50  ^be  Ibouee  Bignifie^ 

intercourse  of  friends.  And  this  test  must  hold  good, 
wherever  the  room  set  apart  for  the  reception  of  guests 
may  be,  whether  in  what  are  called  the  palaces  of  the 
day,  or  in  the  smallest  cottages  or  fiats. 

In  the  parlour,  or  salon,  or  drawing-room,  or  what- 
ever it  may  be  called,  one  finds,  then,  the  real  man  or 
woman,  and  knows,  without  further  question,  just 
what  their  qualifications  may  be,  how  much  savoir- 
faire  they  may  possess,  how  much  ease,  how  delicate 
an  appreciation  for  the  subtler  requirements,  how 
much  self-control,  how  great  a  regard  for  all  that  goes 
to  the  making  of  social  relations  what  they  should  be 
— a  fine  art. 

And  since  a  salon  must  and  does  stand  for  all  this, 
in  it  lie  most  of  the  difficulties  encountered  in  the 
discussion  of  particular  houses.  For  it  is  not  enough 
merely  to  bring  together  one's  finest  possessions. 
Selections  must  be  made,  and  the  same  fine  harmonies 
observed  as  in  the  seating  of  guests  about  a  table. 
Yet  this  is  a  requirement  usually  disregarded.  Men 
or  women  who  have  begun  to  travel  and  amass  are 
unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  display  their  pur- 
chases, lucky  finds,  or  brilliant  discoveries.  Very 
few  have  the  self-control  of  the  man  who,  having  pur- 
chased a  wonderful  old  stone  fireplace,  kept  it  in  a 
storehouse  for  fifteen  years,  until  he  could  build  a 
room  where  it  might  be  at  home.  Thus  there  are 
drawing-rooms  in  which  one  is  called  upon  to  stumble 
over  mediaeval  strong  boxes  set  out  by  tables — ^trunks, 


McKim,  Mend  ,V-  White,  Architects. 

BALLROOM    IN    THE   HOUSE   OF  THE    LATE   \V.  C.   WHITNEY,    NEW    YORK   CITY, 


McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects 
DRAWING-ROOM    IN   THE   TOWN   HOUSE   OF   MR.    H.    W.    POOR,    GRAMERCY    PARK,    NEW    YORK    CITY 


Salons  ant)  SJrawing^lRooms  51 

really,  which  ought  to  be  in  a  hall  upstairs.  One 
sees,  too,  Jacobean  bedsteads,  obviously  intended  for 
sleeping  apartments  or  boudoirs,  pulled  into  place  by 
reading  lamps;  columns  set  up  where  they  support 
nothing;  weather-stained  statues  which  should  be 
in  a  garden  among  the  rose-trees,  but  are  here  drawn 
up  by  satin-covered  chairs.  Yet  to  these  drawing- 
rooms  much  printed  space  has  been  given.  Drawing- 
rooms  !  They  are  show  rooms  for  unthinking  collectors. 
Not  long  since,  a  French  writer  counted  thirty-three 
stag's-heads  on  the  walls  of  one  of  our  show  country 
places,  a  house  hung  with  wonderful  Beauvais  tapestry, 
and  made  splendid  with  furniture  entitled  to  places 
in  great  musetims.  One  such  head  might  have  sug- 
gested a  compliment  to  the  stag,  or  the  prowess  of  the 
hunter,  but  with  thirty-three  one  feels  that  even  a 
stag  might  have  turned.  It  reminds  one  of  the  story 
of  some  woman  who  bought,  outright,  twenty-six 
water-colours  from  a  well-known  English  artist,  to 
furnish  the  bedrooms  of  her  country  house.  None 
of  the  stags  here  mentioned,  by  the  way,  had  been 
shot  by  the  owner  of  the  house,  nor  yet  by  his  friends, 
nor  yet  on  his  land;  nor  were  they  in  a  room  set  out 
with  guns  and  other  implements  of  the  chase,  but  over 
the  bookcases  in  the  library.  I,  myself,  have  seen 
beautiful  old  stone  carved  tables,  set  out  with  silly 
little  lamps  having  fringed  silk  shades ;  drawn  up  beside 
genuine  Louis  Quatorze  chairs,  exquisitely  gilded  and 
carved,  and  covered  with  an  embossed  velvet  of  the 


52  Zbc  Ibouee  Dlgntfie^ 

time — chairs  so  compelling  in  their  magnificence,  that 
the  business  of  any  fortunate  possessor  should  have 
been  to  search  without  ceasing,  as  some  do,  until  the 
proper  accompaniments  in  the  way  of  lamps  should 
be  found.  One  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  possession 
of  beautiful  objects  entails  great  responsibility  in  their 
treatment.  Nor  can  respect  be  withheld  from  the 
women  who  pay  it. 

That  which  strikes  the  observer  most  forcibly, 
indeed,  are  the  unsuspected  limitations  of  those  oc- 
cupying enviable  positions,  the  mental  awkwardness 
of  men  and  women  who  do  not  know  how  to  live  with 
the  rare  objects  around  them,  people  who  know  how 
to  be  comfortable  upstairs,  perhaps,  but  who  can 
never  quite  learn  the  secret  of  being  gracious  on  the 
parlour  floor.  And  sometimes  it  would  seem  that, 
as  a  nation,  we  need  to  be  educated  to  the  full  meaning 
of  salons.  One  does  not  have  to  be  very  old  to  re- 
member a  time  when  the  very  idea  of  a  room  obviously 
arranged  for  the  reception  of  visitors  was  preached 
against  and  ridiculed,  the  real  compliment  to  the  guest 
being  then  declared  to  be  a  welcome  to  the  more  in- 
timate side  of  family  life,  where  father  had  just  been 
reading,  perhaps,  or  mother  sewing.  The  disciples 
of  that  creed  used  to  make  it  a  rule  to  leave  in  their 
drawing-rooms  evidences  of  a  polite  occupation.  Crew- 
els being  then  the  fashion,  strands  of  them  were  gen- 
erally visible,  laid  out  on  a  table  as  if  just  abandoned 
by  fair  fingers.    And  even  now  there  are  people  who 


Salons  ant)  Brawing^lRoome  53 

object  to  the  idea  of  designating  any  room  as  a  salon, 
who  will  have  music  rooms,  libraries,  west  rooms, 
and  east  rooms,  but  who  refuse  to  designate  any  one 
of  them  as  places  where  conversation  with  the  visitor 
can  be  carried  on.  They  think  such  places  too  formal, 
not  easily  enough  adapted  to  fun  and  pleasure — 
everybody  in  these  days  being  too  tired  to  talk,  and 
everybody  wanting  to  be  amused. 

The  question  of  what  particular  character  a  salon 
shall  assume,  or  how  it  shall  be  furnished,  can  only 
be  decided  when  the  question  of  what  the  rest  of  the 
house  is  to  stand  for  has  been  settled,  what  the  nature 
of  its  hospitality  is  to  be,  and  on  how  large  a  scale 
that  hospitality  is  to  be  carried  on.  One  must  know 
whether  it  is  to  be  used  for  formal  entertainments  and 
gay  diversions,  for  intimate  talks  over  the  teacup,  or 
for  intellectual  diversions  of  a  broader  kind.  Yet 
whatever  the  character,  and  however  magnificent  the 
scale,  no  salon,  it  seems  to  me,  can  be  pronounced 
altogether  satisfactory,  which  ignores  the  one  supreme 
note  of  graciousness.  It  must  look  not  only  as  if  it 
were  ready  to  receive  you,  but  as  if  when  doing  so  it 
meant  to  put  you  at  your  best,  as  would  the  tactful 
hostess  herself.  "How  becoming  this  room  is  to 
everyone  in  it,"  I  heard  some  dinner  guests  saying, 
not  long  since.  And  indeed  the  room  was  a  beautiful 
frame   for  beautiful  women   and   distinguished  men. 

This  particular  room  is  pure  Louis  Quinze — a 
white  woodwork  of  charming  tone,  panelled  in  mirrors 


54  ^be  Ibonec  2)icjmtieb 

and  covered  with  a  boiserie  in  gold,  marvellously 
executed  and  so  alluring  in  design  that  its  lines  delight 
the  eye  as  music  delights  the  ear.  These  walls  are 
genuine,  not  copies,  and  of  a  richness  and  beauty  not 
easy  to  describe.  Everything  in  the  room  is  genmne 
and  old,  indeed,  except  the  bordered  Savonnerie  carpet 
(one  of  a  soft  grey,  specially  manufactured  for  it) 
and  the  flowered  silk  curtains  (also  specially  woven). 
And  when  I  say  specially  woven,  I  mean  that  not 
only  was  the  order  given,  but  that  every  single  strand 
of  silk  has  been  selected  with  care,  lived  with  for  some 
time,  and  a  sample  made,  so  that  just  the  right  tones, 
and  only  they,  should  appear.  The  model  itself,  of 
course,  was  of  the  period.  And  it  is  just  such  care  as 
this,  which  some  few  of  the  elect  are  wilHng  to  bestow, 
in  the  creation  of  their  surroundings,  which  goes  to 
make  those  few  interiors  that  can  be  counted  as  real 
contributions  to  their  time.  The  furniture  of  the  room 
consists  necessarily  of  consols,  drawers,  and  tables, 
belonging  to  the  time  and  unencimibered  with  the 
superfluous,  a  few  pieces  of  Sevres  and  other  rare 
porcelains  alone  being  allowed  upon  them.  On  the 
mantles  are  the  clocks  and  candelabra  of  the  period; 
in  the  fireplaces,  the  chenets  belonging  to  the  same 
epoch.  The  chairs  and  sofas  are  of  tapestry,  unique 
examples  belonging  to  the  history  of  their  day.  Not  a 
book  is  visible,  books  not  belonging  here. 

Now  a  room  of  this  kind  could  be  so  formal  as  to 
be  uninviting.     It  is  in  the  arrangement  of  its  various 


^  ^3^ 


Salons  ant)  2)tawinG*»1Rooms  55 

appointments  that  its  feeling  of  graciousness  is  to  be 
found— its    grouping    of    chairs,    its    arrangement    of 
tables  always  set  out  with  rare  flowers,  its  choice  and 
distribution  of  lights— a  point  too   often  neglected. 
Everything   helps   the   picture,    as   it   were.     People 
appear,  and  quite  naturally,  as  part  of  a  dehghtful 
composition.     Nothing  is  obvious,  and  yet  the  whole 
effect  is  to  bring  out  the  best  in  every  one,  to  give 
women  the  same  sense  of  ease  which  Emerson  said 
some  women  felt  with  well-fitted  backs  to  their  dresses. 
It  were  foolish  to  urge  the  stupid  claim  that  with 
such  wealth  of  fine  appointments,  this  note  of  gra- 
ciousness to  a  guest  is  necessarily  made  easy;  that  with 
money  any  one  can  do  anything,  and  should  certainly 
know  how  to  make  even  one's  guests  look  well.    The 
ability  to  do   so  is  a  gift,  quite  independent  of  ac- 
cessories, and  can  be  as  well  exercised  in  modest  in- 
teriors,  as  in  those  whose  beauties  have  just  been 
described.     Indeed,   there  are  small  parlours,  having 
no  right  to  be  mentioned  among  these,  in  which  the 
same  study  of  graciousness  to  a  guest  has  been  made; 
where  with  lights  and  mirrors,  massing  of  flowers  and 
grouping  of  furniture,  the  sense  of  the  becoming,  though 
never  by  a  too  obvious  composition,  has  been  produced, 
so  that  each  person  is  made  part  of  a  lovely  picture. 
The  severer  and  more  classic  lines  of  the  Louis 
Sixteenth  period  enter  into  the  construction  of  another 
salon,  panelled  in  white  wood,  its  gilded  hoiserie  being 
of  unusual  grace.     A  superb  crystal  lustre  of  half  a 


56  Zhc  Ibouse  Bignifieb 

hundred  candles  hangs  in  this  room,  while  the  ap- 
pliques against  the  walls  are  like  the  tapestry  furniture 
just  referred  to — objects  that  have  long  since  found 
their  way  into  history.  In  this  room,  again,  there 
are  no  distracting  superfluities,  no  books,  no  little 
and  uncomfortable  things,  no  obvious  touches  of  in- 
timacy, no  grouping  together  on  small  tables  of  mean- 
ingless silver  ornaments,  no  photographs  of  modem 
beauties,  or  favourite  grandchildren.  These,  with  the 
books,  are  all  upstairs.  Yet  in  this  room  the  guest 
is  made  at  once  to  feel  at  ease,  its  beautiful  tapestry 
furniture  lending  itself  to  the  graceful,  the  amenable, 
the  reposeful.  No  one  who  enters  here  feels  in  a  hurry 
to  depart — the  conviction  of  the  woman  back  of  it  all 
is  too  strong. 

One  feels  the  same  sense  of  graciousness  in  another 
drawing-room,  which  follows  no  period,  yet  in  which 
everything  is  old  and  interesting,  and  each  thing  of 
beauty  in  itself.  The  room  is  of  superb  proportions, 
with  huge  carved  stone  fireplaces  at  either  end.  Op- 
posite the  wide  stone  entrance,  framed  and  hung  in 
embossed  velvets  of  marvellous  tone,  is  a  bay-window 
over  twenty  feet  wide,  backed  with  growing  plants 
set  down  on  the  floor,  a  composition  of  perennial  joy. 
The  ceiling  is  old  Venetian,  its  panels  filled  with  paint- 
ings. The  walls  are  hung  with  tapestries  in  which 
the  colours  glow.  Everything  in  the  room  is  of  large 
and  generous  proportions,  rich  in  colour  and  texture. 
The  sofas  are  ample,   the  chairs,   with  their  richly 


Salons  ant)  2)rawing^1Room0  57 

carved  frames  and  covered  with  velvet  and  silk,  make 
superb  settings  for  the  figure.  The  tables  are  broad 
and  beautifully  carved.  The  ancient  wedding-chests 
are  ample,  and  the  pieces  set  out  on  them  are  objects 
of  beauty.  Rare  and  beautiful  things,  indeed,  are 
everywhere,  yet  never  obtruded.  Nothing  is  overdone, 
or  placed  where  it  might  interfere  with  the  supreme 
motive  of  it  all — comfort  and  warmth,  but  comfort 
and  warmth  that  come  from  a  choice  of  colour,  tactful 
consideration,  from  the  eye  being  constantly  fed  and 
satisfied,  and  above  all  the  feeling  of  the  human  note, 
the  note  of  the  woman  who  loves  it  all,  and  who  in 
loving  it  has  made  it  a  contribution  to  your  life. 

For  excellence  in  houses  does  not  involve  simply 
a  rigid  adherence  to  style,  good  as  that  adherence  may 
be  when  a  style  is  attempted.  It  really  means  an 
expression  of  humanity  in  its  higher,  broader  sense, 
the  feeling  of  the  controlling  spirit,  the  conviction 
of  one's  having  understood  and  known  the  things 
about  her,  and  who,  having  believed  in  them,  makes 
you  welcome  among  them.  A  strict  adherence  to 
style  is  certainly  no  less  evident  in  one  other  lovely 
salon  that  I  know.  There  is  white  in  it,  and  there  is 
gold,  and  there  are  superb  hangings,  beautiful  pieces 
of  furniture,  exquisite  porcelains,  and  three  panels  of 
the  walls,  filled  with  as  many  full-length  portraits 
of  beautiful  young  women.  Some  people  call  it  a 
French  room,  but  nobody  has  ever  been  able  to  tell 
why,   or  to   settle   upon   the  epoch.      And    nobody 


58  ^be  Ibouse  BiGuificb 

should  want  to,  so  lovely  is  it  of  its  kind,  so  adapted 
to  all  that  goes  to  make  lovely  the  gentle  amenities 
of  life.  I  went  in  there  one  snowy  afternoon,  and 
found  an  old  lady  pouring  tea,  and  all  at  once  and  for 
the  first  time  I  felt  that  old  ladies  ought  always  to  be 
pouring  tea  in  just  such  rooms  as  this.  Suddenly, 
too,  as  I  think  it  always  should,  the  keenness  for  details 
dropped  away,  only  the  atmosphere  of  something 
rare  and  choice  remaining,  an  atmosphere  made  vi- 
brant by  cultivated  sympathies.  From  all  of  which 
it  can  be  seen  that  the  charm  of  each  salon  just  de- 
scribed really  means  the  charm  of  the  women  who 
have  created  them. 

There,  are,  of  course,  salons  which  the  architect 
has  given  us,  so  beautiful  in  themselves  that,  even 
without  furniture,  one  sits  down  and  loses  one's  self 
in  a  sense  of  beauty  and  proportion,  as  the  favoured 
few  must  who  are  admitted  to  certain  rooms,  for 
instance,  at  Versailles.  Happily,  too,  there  are  some 
such  rooms  in  our  country,  although  too  often  they 
are  destroyed  by  the  colours  introduced.  For  an 
exercise  of  the  colour  sense  is  necessary  in  all  decoration, 
and  without  it  the  most  generous  of  intentions  must 
fail.  When  one  finds  it,  one  thrills,  and  instinctively 
yields  a  homage.  This  colour  sense  is,  however,  rare. 
Some  women,  under  the  guidance  of  their  decorators, 
begin  well,  and  then  forget!  Little  things  prove  too 
tempting,  odd  sofa  cushions,  a  bit  of  rare  silk  on  a 
table,  a  lamp-shade  just  out  of  key,  a  piece  of  por- 


Salons  an^  Drawing^'IRoome  59 

celain  that  quarrels  with  its    neighbour,  blue  greens 
and  yellow  greens  side  by  side;  reds  that  run  in  two 
different  directions  at  once;  and  then— though  they 
never  can  tell  why— the  charm  of  the  salon  has  fled. 
There  is  one  salon  which  I  like  to  remember  when 
thinking  of  what  colour  may  be.     The  room  belongs 
to  a  country  house  and  is  made  entirely  of  grey  stone 
—walls,  floor,  and  ceiling,— a  grey  stone  soft  and  repose- 
ful in  tone.     The  fireplace  and  some  of  the  panels  are 
carved,  as  well  as  the  door-frames.     Over  the  mantle 
there  is  a  niche  holding  a  bust  of  Voltaire.     No  other 
decorations  are  seen.     The  floors  are  covered  with  rugs 
and  bear-skins.     The  note  of  colour  comes  in  with  the 
green  velvet  brocade  which  covers  the  superb  Louis 
Quatorze  chairs  and  sofas,  and  which  hangs  again  at 
the    windows.     The    combination    of   the    greys    and 
greens  is  with  the  note  of    yellow   from  the   gilding 
irresistibly  lovely,  Hke  that  which  lends  such  subtle 
charm  to  the  purple  greys  of  French  beech-tree  trunks 
with  their  delicate  mantlings  of  green. 

And  there  is  still  another  salon,  also  in  a  country 
house,  where  the  colour  has  a  refinement  and  charm 
so  rare  that  one  becomes  lost  in  satisfaction.  The  room 
overlooks  a  terraced  garden  in  which  fountains  play 
in  the  sunHght.  Beyond  these  stretches  a  beautiful 
country,  a  broad  silver  band  of  a  river,  with  the  green 
of  mountains  beyond,  extending  for  miles  and  miles 
till  their  distant  summits  become  purple.  One  wants 
in  such  a  room  the  repose  of  something  tender  and 


6o  Zbc  I3ou0e  BiGnifiet) 

soft,  and  that  is  just  what  has  been  given.  Here,  then, 
are  soft  silver  greys  and  golds,  broken  with  touches 
of  blue.  The  floor  of  the  room  is  of  oak.  The  Renais- 
sance fireplace  and  door-frame  are  of  soft  grey  carved 
stone.  The  ceiling  is  grey  and  gold.  The  walls  are 
covered  with  a  delicate  grey- toned  silk  brocatelle,  fast- 
ened round  the  edges  with  a  dull  gold  braid.  Quaint 
and  soft-toned  ancient  tapestries  hang  on  the  walls, 
framed  with  carved  gilded  wood.  The  curtains  are  of 
velvet;  ashes  of  silver  they  seem  in  one  light,  ashes  of 
roses  in  another,  so  delicate  are  the  Hghts  upon  them, 
but  a  soft  cafe  au  lait  in  reality.  A  blue  braid  binds 
these,  and  blue  appears  again  on  the  sofa  cushions, 
on  table  mats,  and  in  the  tapestry.  Thus  blue  and 
gold,  which  makes  everjrwhere  a  charming  combina- 
tion, appears  here,  but  so  softened,  so  kindly  chosen, 
that  one  gets  all  the  sentiments  of  the  past,  even 
where  a  modem  stuff,  like  that  of  the  portiere,  has 
been  introduced  over  the  carved  oak  door. 

Some  splendid  effects  are  produced  in  these  days 
by  the  use  in  salons  of  marble  or  wooden  columns 
introduced  about  the  doorways.  One  sees  them  in 
many  of  the  important  salons  giving  distinction  to 
entrances.  Even  when  they  make  no  architectural 
pretence  of  supporting  a  framework,  they  are,  when 
low  enough,  often  placed  on  either  side  of  a  portal, 
as  one  sees  them  in  the  Mus^e  Cluny,  and  made  to 
hold  large  church  candlesticks  or  other  important 
pieces  having  artistic  value.     Tapestries  and  velvets. 


Salon0  anb  Brawing^lRoome  6i 

satins  and  silks  of   the   richest  description,   are  em- 
ployed   as    hangings,    superb   old   stuffs,    to    supply 
which    some    church    or   palace    has    been    denuded. 
Marbles  appear  in  the  construction,  some  that  were 
carved  centuries  ago,  and  woods  that  have  taken  as 
many  years  to  tone;  ceilings  that  were  once  the  boast 
of  ancestral  homes,  and  chairs  in  which  kings  have 
sat,  thus  repeating  the  history  of  all  revivals  in  which 
a  love   of   the   artistic   prevailed,  when   Greece   was 
robbed  to  furnish  Italy,  and  Italy  to  embellish  France. 
And   these   salons   with   their   splendours   are   found 
everywhere,    distributed   throughout   the   country   in 
unexpected  places,  forming  centres  of  interest  which 
in  a  generation  to  come  may  be  still  more  widely  felt, 
and  perhaps  lead  to  the  development  of  an  original 
art   among  us.     Great   dependence  indeed  has  been 
placed  upon  these  accessories,  and  not  so  much  upon 
the  creation  of  rooms  which  would  stand  more  or  less 
by  themselves  as  when  wood  or  marble  is  used  ex- 
clusively, and  the  architect  has  created  an  interior 
in  which  decoration  is  not  so  much  an  accessory  as 
an  integral  part  of  the  construction. 

Of  these,  we  have  many  interesting  examples. 
Thus  there  are  salons  of  French  walnut  with  panelled 
ceilings,  the  hoiserie  framing  panels  with  exquisitely 
rounded  arches.  The  hangings  are  in  red  or  low  in 
tone.  Into  rooms  like  these,  one  can  rightly  introduce 
only  the  very  chaste  and  exquisite,  appliques  which 
are  observant  of  beauty  of  line,  tables  that  suggest 


62  Zhc  lbou0C  2)igmtic^ 

a  respect  not  only  for  proportions,  but  for  the  material 
of  which  they  are  made.  Even  the  flowers  must  be 
carefully  chosen,  and  the  vases  that  hold  them  must 
be  beautiful  in  themselves.  And  the  temptation  to 
dwell  upon  the  consideration  paid  to  these  details 
is  almost  irresistible,  so  altogether  delightful  is  the 
impression  made  by  them,  so  compelling  to  one's 
admiration  of  the  man  or  woman  who  has  had  the 
courage  to  respect  only  the  finer  necessities  and 
conventions. 


Chapter  V 

Boudoirs,  Dens,  and  Smoking-Rooms 

pURPOSELY,  and  because  the  contrast  between 
them  represents  so  many  points  of  fundamental 
interest,  a  discussion  of  "Dens  and  Boudoirs,"  has, 
in  this  work,  been  made  to  follow  directly  upon  that 
of  "Salons  and  Drawing-Rooms. " 

For,  as  in  salons  the  necessity  exists  for  expressing 
only  that  which  goes  to  making  gracious  and  lovely 
the  purely  social  side  of  human  life — a  life  in  which, 
however  tempered,  conventions  and  a  rigorous  regard 
for  the  amenities  must  still  prevail,  a  man  appearing 
always,  as  it  were,  in  uniform, — so  in  dens  and  boudoirs 
one  finds,  clamouring  as  insistently  for  its  own  complete 
expression,  that  other  deep-rooted  instinct  in  man  for 
relaxation  and  privacy.  It  is  an  instinct  as  old  as  the 
race  itself,  demanding  periodic  opportunities  for  throw- 
ing off  restraints,  and  allowing  the  individual  to  be- 
come what  he  likes  to  call  himself.  An  unattractive 
self,  in  many  cases,  as  some  of  the  dens  he  has  pro- 
vided prove.     But  sometimes  a  most  engaging  one,  in 

63 


64  Zhc  Ibouse  2)ignit[c^ 

which  unsuspected  and  alluring  qualities  are  suddenly 
revealed. 

The  critic  at  first  would  seem  to  have  but  little 
business  here,  since  this  is  a  domain  in  which  no  ques- 
tions growing  out  of  the  relations  of  a  host  to  his  guests 
need  be  considered,  a  man  being  at  liberty  to  do  as  he 
chooses — even  to  violating  certain  laws  of  good  taste, 
as  when  he  insists  upon  dressing-gowns  and  slippers 
at  night.  And  yet  the  critic  finds  in  dens  and  bou- 
doirs every  faculty  suddenly  aroused,  discovering 
as  he  does  that  a  man's  idea  of  comfort  when  alone, 
shows  the  man  as  he  is,  without  artifice  or  conven- 
tion. He  discovers,  too,  that  this  question  of  what 
is  considered  comfort  is  a  very  vital  one,  which  cannot 
be  ignored  when  final  estimates  are  placed  upon  houses. 
For  it  is  as  subtle  in  its  revelations  of  a  man's  taste 
and  development  as  questions  of  what  he  considers 
humour — of  that  which  he  is  willing  to  laugh  at,  or  to 
repeat  to  his  friends  as  "funny."  A  man's  idea  of 
comfort  betrays  the  secrets  of  his  early  training,  his 
habits  of  thought  and  sentiment  being  even  more 
closely  related  to  his  mental  make-up  than  to  his 
physical  idiosyncrasies.  Yet  this  is  a  point  too  often 
ignored  by  both  critic  and  decorator.  "Yes,  a  beau- 
tiful house,"  said  one  of  them  not  long  since,  referring 
to  one  in  which  respect  for  beauty  had  been  paid  at 
every  turn;  "but  there  is  not  a  comer  in  it  in  which 
to  be  comfortable." 

What  this  special  speaker  forgot  was  that  ideas 


McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects  Photographed  by  Baker,  New  York 

SMOKING  ROOM  IN  A  PRIVATE  HOUSE  AT  SOUTHAMPTON,  LONG  ISLAND 


PhotOijraphed  by  Baker,  New  York 
SMOKING  ROOM  IN  THE  RESIDENCE  OF  MR.  HENRY  SELIGMAN,  NEW  YORK 


^BouDoire,  Dens,  anb  Smof^ing^lRoome     65 

of  comfort  must  differ  as  the  colours  of  sea  and  sky. 
Some  men  cannot  be  comfortable  except  when  prop- 
erly attired.  Some  women  are  uncomfortable  unless 
the  eye  is  satisfied.  Lounging  en  deshabille  does  not 
make  the  comfort  of  every  individual,  as  it  does  that 
of  this  particular  decorator,  since  there  are  people 
able  to  be  comfortable  even  in  the  midst  of  elegance! 
It  is  all  a  question  of  individual  requirements — of 
character  and  equipment.  To  criticise  a  house  as 
uncomfortable,  simply  because  it  is  correct  in  its 
appointments,  is  absurd.  Comfort  includes  a  whole 
gamut  of  sensations  and  emotions,  out  of  which  the 
intellectual  or  aesthetic  note  can  never  be  omitted. 
Bad  colours  and  proportions  make  as  much  discomfort 
for  some  as  ill-regulated  temperatures  do  for  others; 
and  although  one  may  find  comfort  in  throwing  off 
all  restraints  and  lapsing  into  the  primitive,  another 
may  find  it  only  when  the  finer  requirements  of  a 
cultivated  taste  have  been  gratified.  Mentality,  I 
repeat,  must  enter  into  the  question,  the  satisfaction 
of  a  certain  inner  sense  demanding  as  much  for  the 
eye  as  for  the  spinal  column. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  case  in  older  civilisa- 
tions, among  us,  at  least,  men,  curiously  enough,  have 
been  the  first  to  make  interesting  and  attractive  those 
special  rooms  in  a  house,  set  aside  for  their  exclusive 
use  and  recreation.  Sometimes  called  dens,  and 
sometimes  called  studies,  studios,  or  smoking-rooms, 
their  apartments  have  been  places  to  which  old  and 


66  ^be  Ibomc  2)igmtie& 

young  have  been  irresistibly  drawn,  until  the  dis- 
tracted possessor  has  often  been  ousted  from  his 
territory.  Invasions  of  the  father's  special  domain, 
indeed,  by  every  member  of  a  household,  and  this  in 
spite  of  his  exclusion  laws,  belong  to  the  history  of  all 
families.  No  place  in  a  house  is  found  so  reposeful, 
so  conducive  to  quiet  trains  of  thought,  so  stimulating 
to  the  young  imagination,  the  very  evidences  of  his 
toil  but  adding  to  the  general  charm.  For  in  creating 
something  which  stands  for  the  real  in  him,  he  has 
created  something  as  stable  and  inspiring  as  character 
itself,  and  been  the  first  to  solve,  in  dens  at  least,  the 
secret  of  all  successful  interiors — that  of  a  definite 
aim,  and  the  subordination  to  it  of  every  irrelevant 
detail. 

It  is,  on  the  other  hand,  only  with  the  building  of  our 
newer  and  more  important  houses  that  women  have 
been  discovered  launching  out  for  themselves,  as  it 
were,  and  providing  their  own  special  substitutes  for 
the  masculine  den.  In  this  they  have  been  inspired 
possibly  by  the  traditions  of  a  more  sumptuous  Euro- 
pean school,  or  possibly  by  a  desire  to  indulge,  to  the 
utmost,  that  which  in  these  modem  days  is  sometimes 
referred  to  as  "her  craving  for  identity."  Hitherto, 
at  any  rate,  the  mother's  ample  bedroom  served  her 
purpose.  In  this  she  wrote  her  letters,  disciplined 
her  children,  or  received  the  confidences  of  her  intimate 
friends.  But  to-day  we  are  beginning  to  find  her 
with  something  considered  exclusively  her  own.    *'  Here 


3Bouboir6,  2)en0,  ant)  SmoMng=^*Koom0     67 

I  have  only  the  books  I  count  as  my  friends,"  she  will 
tell  you  pointing  to  row  upon  row  of  books  lining  the 
walls  of  her  sanctum.  Or,  "Here  at  least  I  can  keep 
about  me  the  pictures  of  those  I  love,"  she  will  say 
as  she  points  out  among  her  flowers  groups  of  various 
portraits. 

And  yet,  odd  as  it  may  seem,  most  of  these  rooms 
so  provided  lack  conviction.  Despite  their  richness 
of  brocade  and  satin,  their  luxury  of  lace  and  ermine, 
despite  the  very  insistence  made  by  special  bindings 
in  tooled  leather,  they  rarely  win  you  to  them;  nor 
do  they  always  seem  to  win  their  veritable  owners. 
You  feel  that  the  woman  herself  is  not  all  here,  that 
she  has  conceded  too  much  to  effects,  sacrificed  too 
much  to  convention.  The  foreigner  sometimes  sees 
this.  A  modem  French  writer,  at  any  rate,  gives 
this  illuminating  anecdote.  After  describing  the  va- 
rious and  superb  possessions  found  in  one  house  famed 
throughout  the  country — the  Beauvais  tapestries  and 
the  carvings;  the  bronzes  and  the  portraits;  the  suites 
of  bedrooms  and  bathrooms ;  the  royal  provision  made 
everywhere  for  man  and  beast, — he  finds  himself  at 
last  in  the  sanctum  of  Madame.  "A  symphony  in 
green,"  he  says;  "furs  on  the  floor,  busts  on  the 
pedestals."  A  glance  at  the  book-shelves  reveals  to 
him  the  names  of  Flaubert,  Renan,  Mirabeau,  De 
Musset,  Maeterlinck,  Byron,  Taine,  Moliere,  D'An- 
nunzio,  and  Montaigne.  Although  millions  and  mil- 
lions more  of  dollars,  as  he  assures  us,  are  still  in  her 


68  Zbc  1bou0e  Dlgntfieb 

pretty  hands  to  expend  as  she  chooses,  he  closes  his 
chapter  with  these  significant  words:  "In  walking 
through  the  grounds,  she  led  me  to  a  small  log  cabin 
in  the  woods,  where  solitude  was  complete,  and  turn- 
ing to  me,  said:  ' Here  I  come  every  day  to  write;  here 
alone  am  I  happy. ' 

Now  and  then,  however,  one  does  come  across  a 
woman's  private  room,  in  which  the  mistress  is  happy; 
and  not  only  she,  but  all  who  enter.  Thus  there  is 
one,  found  also  in  a  country  house.  All  the  woodwork 
is  white.  The  wall-covering  visible  above  the  low 
white  bookcases  is  a  cream-white,  striped  satin  of 
softest  tone,  held  in  place  by  a  dull  gold  braid.  Lovely 
water-colours  and  pastels  are  hung  there,  each  with  a 
value  of  its  own — ^an  artistic,  not  a  sentimental  value. 
The  low  Louis  Sixteenth  chairs  are  covered  with  a  soft 
cream  velvet.  The  windows,  like  all  others  in  the 
house,  are  leaded.  Over  them  hang  cream  taffeta 
curtains,  the  old  blue  embroidery  of  the  border  being 
repeated  in  the  fitted  lambrequin.  Drawn  close  up 
by  the  book-shelves,  bringing  the  volumes  within  easy 
reach  of  her  hands,  is  a  genuine  old  chaise  tongue 
covered  with  a  blue  brocade  that  time  has  softened 
into  misty  tones. 

You  cannot  enter  this  room,  even  when  empty, 
without  recognising  that  the  inner  temple  of  its  owner's 
soul  must  somehow  be  a  lovely  place  in  which  you 
yourself  would  like  to  dwell  and  find  your  re-creation. 
You  recognise,  too,  that  although  individuality  has 


3Bout)cir0,  H)en0,  anb  SmoMno^^lRooms     69 

been  allowed  its  free  expression  here,  it  has  been  the 
expression  of  the  well-poised  nature,  sure  of  itself — 
a  nature  that,  knowing  its  own  necessities,  has  in  pro- 
viding for  them  wasted  none  of  its  energies  in  mere 
protest.  There  comes  to  you  the  same  sense  of  con- 
viction that  you  find  in  the  refuges  of  men,  although 
the  charm  of  the  purely  feminine  note  is  all-pervading 
here.  And  because  the  room  convinces  you,  it  draws 
you  irresistibly  to  it. 

This  same  drawing  power  is  felt  in  another  boudoir, 
this  time  in  a  city  house.  The  woodwork  is  white  and 
the  walls  are  covered  with  a  pink  paper  bordered  with 
garlands.  Pink  satin  curtains  hang  at  the  windows. 
Real  lace  cushions  are  piled  on  the  satin-covered 
divan.  The  furniture  is  in  marquetry.  Books  lie  on 
the  tables,  photographs  in  silver  frames  cover  the 
mantel.  The  desk  is  always  thickly  covered  with 
letters  from  every  part  of  the  globe.  What  makes  the 
room  remarkable,  however,  is  the  fact  that  it  belongs 
to  a  white-haired  woman,  a  many-times  grandmother, 
in  fact,  who  has  never  lost  her  sense  of  dainty  freshness. 
It  might  be  the  boudoir  of  some  young  girl.  Yet  to 
this  room  every  day  come  old  and  young  alike,  sons 
with  their  cigarettes,  girls  with  their  secrets,  distin- 
guished men  with  interesting  problems  to  discuss. 
For  here  again  one  finds  suggested  the  well-defined 
purposes  of  the  perfectly  poised.  It  is  the  room  of  a 
woman  to  whom  relaxation  and  privacy  mean  not 
opportunities  for  lapsing  into  the  bizarre  or  eccentric. 


70  ^be  1bou0C  2)ignifieb 

but  for  more  completely  developing  both  cultivated 
and  captivating  qualities. 

Luxury  prevails  in  most  of  these  rooms,  even  in 
those  that  are  found  not  all-satisfying  to  their  owners. 
Brocades,  damasks,  and  satins  form  the  covering  of 
both  walls  and  furniture.  Real  lace  appears  in  cush- 
ions and  curtains.  Gold  and  silver,  tortoise  shell  and 
ivory,  rare  carvings  and  embroideries,  rich  furs  and 
porcelains,  are  everywhere.  No  one  special  period 
prevails.  Now  and  then  one  finds  a  boudoir  with  its 
hoiserie  copied  from  Versailles.  Or  again  whole  rooms 
bought  out  of  ancient  palaces  and  set  up  here.  Some- 
times an  English  room  is  copied  with  its  oak  and 
chintz,  its  rows  of  miniatures,  and  its  polished  grates. 
Sombre  furniture-covering  and  curtains  combined 
with  dark  woods  are  found  among  those  who  wish 
to  throw  into  stronger  relief  both  books  and  canvases, 
for  the  true  picture-lover  keeps  her  best  possessions 
for  this  room.  There  are  still  other  rooms  in  which 
a  different  note  is  sounded.  There  is  one,  for  ex- 
ample, in  which  the  sympathy  of  the  owner  inclines 
her  to  Gothic  forms.  Thus,  her  bookcases  and  window 
are  copies  of  famous  Gothic  carvings,  painted  white. 
With  these,  as  colours,  she  combines,  however,  only 
the  softest  sea-shell  pinks.  They  appear  in  the  wall- 
covering and  curtains,  and  again  in  the  chairs  and 
sofas — chairs  and  sofas  into  which  one  sinks  as  into 
pleasant  dreams.  White  bear-skins  cover  the  floor. 
Orchids,  and  orchids  alone,  appear  in  the  crystal  vases. 


36ouboir6,  Bene,  ant)  SmoMng^'IRooms     71 

Like  those  who  attire  themselves  for  church,  the  mis- 
tress of  this  room  never  enters  it  unless  she  is  clothed 
in  garments  of  diaphanous  white. 

But  why  should  you  laugh? 

Even  so  grave  a  necessity,  imposed  upon  herself, 
is  not  altogether  folly.  For  certainly  there  should  be 
some  sort  of  harmony  preserved  between  a  woman's 
dress  and  her  surroundings,  especially  in  those  sur- 
roundings with  which  she  has  closely  identified  herself. 
Moreover  I  doubt  very  much  if  any  real  house  lover 
altogether  neglects  it. 

One  knows  that  there  are  women  who  will  not 
wear  colours  that  cry  out  against  those  of  their  salons. 
And  certainly  one  can  hardly  picture  the  stiff,  starched 
waist  and  the  short  golf  skirt  as  "the  simple  habit" 
in  which  a  woman  lives  whose  lounging  room  is  made 
up  of  fluffs  of  lace  and  puffs  of  satin.  One  must  con- 
sider the  relation  of  toilets  to  environment.  This 
does  not  mean  that  because  a  house  is  strictly  Louis 
Quinze  or  Renaissance,  a  woman  should  dress  after 
the  fashion  of  those  times.  But  it  ought  to  mean 
that  certain  right  relationships  should  be  preserved. 
We  insist  upon  these  relationships  when  the  surround- 
ings are  meagre,  and  the  dress  extravagant;  for  then, 
not  only  the  woman's  taste  but  her  morals  as  well 
would  be  called  into  question.  But  when  in  the  choice 
of  her  garments  the  requirements  of  a  more  sumptuous 
entourage  are  brought  into  play,  we  exclaim  against 
eccentricity,    extravagance,    and  vanity.     The    over- 


72  ZTbe  1bou0e  Dignttleb 

accentuation  of  any  relationship  is  of  course  absurd; 
at  the  same  time,  one  should  be  suggested,  between 
the  woman  and  the  house  in  which  she  dwells.  Her 
way  of  dressing  is  but  one  way  of  conveying  this  to 
you.  Look  about  in  the  houses  of  your  friends, 
and  you  will  find  that  this  relationship  is  everywhere 
struggling  for  expression.  You  will  find  some  woman 
though  perhaps  unconsciously,  taking  on  the  colour  of 
a  sympathetic  environment,  even  one  into  which  she 
has  been  introduced  by  marriage.  You  will  see  it  in 
the  graceful  lines  of  dresses  which  she  has  chosen  for 
her  marble  halls,  in  the  colours  she  adopts,  and  some- 
times even  in  the  way  of  arranging  her  hair,  copied 
maybe  from  the  old  prints  that  she  has  studied. 
All  this  goes  on  until  at  last  the  house  though  acquired 
seems  suddenly  to  have  become  a  setting  for  her. 
This,  however,  is  a  result  that  is  never  obtained,  unless 
it  has  been  accomplished  without  the  exercise  of  vanity, 
the  assumption  of  a  pose,  or  too  strong  an  insistence 
upon  the  rights  of  a  rebellious  personality. 

No  such  subtlety  of  relationship  can  of  necessity 
be  found  among  men,  bound  by  the  laws  of  convention 
to  habits  of  cloth  and  starched  linen.  Pictorially, 
indeed,  a  man  never  bears  any  relation  to  his  surround- 
ings, unless  he  goes  off  as  a  hunter,  and  settles  himself 
in  a  camp.  And  perhaps  this  is  the  secret  of  how  the 
balances  are  best  preserved  between  the  master  and 
mistress,  he  being  always,  when  in  her  presence,  part, 
as  it  were,  of  an  admiring  audience.     That  he  wearies 


Boudoirs,  Bene,  an^  Smoking^'Koome     73 

of  his  role  at  times  is  suggested  by  the  fact  that  he 
shirks  it  so  often,  going  off  into  comers  to  build  for 
himself  a  hiding-place.  He  demands  one  at  least,  al- 
most with  his  first  breath  as  a  separate  householder. 
He  wants  a  place  of  his  own,  even  when  he  has  none 
of  the  excuses  of  the  serious  worker.  To  find  it  he  will 
sometimes  go  off  to  the  top  of  the  house,  protecting 
himself  from  approaches  by  private  flights  of  steps,  made 
beautiful,  in  many  cases,  by  carved  stone  or  wrought 
iron,  and  lighted  by  old  brass  or  silver  lamps.  Or  he 
gets  off  in  a  wing  of  the  house,  well  shut  away  from  the 
rest  of  the  dwelling,  still  providing  himself  with  special 
flights  of  steps,  leading  down  this  time  into  his  domain. 
He  never  neglects  his  approaches,  indeed.  In  this 
he  differs  widely  from  the  woman.  One  is  tempted, 
in  fact,  to  believe  that  the  inherited  instincts  of  primi- 
tive man,  guarding  approaches  to  his  cave,  are  being 
exercised  again.  For  even  when  there  is  no  separate 
staircase,  there  is  always  the  well-protected  entrance. 
One  man,  for  instance,  having  built  his  refuge  out-of- 
doors,  has  concealed  approaches  to  it  by  clumps  of 
skilfully  arranged  bushes  and  shrubs.  A  trellis  protects 
you  from  the  rain,  but  you  must  first  know  the  secret 
before  you  can  enter. 

In  this  room  there  is,  of  course,  the  wide  fireplace 
for  the  generous  log,  for  the  den-lover  scorns  the 
polished  grate  and  well-washed  lump  of  kennel  coal. 
The  ceiling  is  raftered.  Hanging  from  it  by  in- 
visible wires  is  a  flight  of  wild  geese.    Various  other 


74  Zhc  Ibomc  'Bx^nxUc^ 

evidences  of  a  huntsman's  taste  appear  upon  the 
walls.  One  end  of  the  room,  however,  is  reserved  for 
pictures.  Here  he  hangs,  now  a  Van  Dyck,  and  now, 
some  weeks  later,  a  Millais.  No  creature  comfort 
is  neglected.  There  are  wide  divans  for  lounging, 
chairs  to  be  lost  in,  books  that  invite  you.  There  are 
musical  instnmients,  too,  and  once  a  week  a  famous 
quartet  is  simimoned  here.  It  is  the  refuge  of  a  man 
who  finds  his  recreation  in  cementing  human  ties,  and 
in  indulging  the  requirements  of  a  many-sided  nature. 
Before  the  public  he  is  a  director  of  men.  Here  he 
is  discovered  to  be  the  genial  friend  and  cultivated 
gentleman. 

The  privileged  few  alone  are  admitted  to  another 
refuge,  in  strange  contrast  to  this.  It  is  one  which 
a  well-known  man  of  letters  has  provided  for  himself. 
As  though  it  were  not  enough  to  have  hidden  the  room 
itself,  he  has  provided  stiU  a  second  staircase  leading 
out  of  one  room  and  up  into  another.  This  staircase, 
with  its  balcony,  carved  balustrade,  and  supporting 
columns,  becomes  a  most  decorative  feature.  It 
serves,  however,  to  conceal  from  the  room  below  an 
upper  den  made  to  hold  some  choicest  treasures  in 
illuminated  text  or  ancient  folio,  and  even  the  man 
himself  when  writing.  The  only  furniture  of  this 
upper  chamber  consists  of  a  bare  oak  table,  two 
chairs,  and  a  quaint  lamp.  The  atmosphere  is  as 
rare  and  fine  as  that  of  some  old  mediaeval  cloister. 
One     breathes    books    and     quiet    everywhere,    the 


Bouboirs,  Dens,  ant)  Smoking^'Koome     75 

eye  being  occasionally  beguiled  by  a  bit  of  bronze 
or  a  bust. 

Quite  a  different  atmosphere  is  felt  in  the  room 
of  another  man  who,  in  the  wing  of  his  house,  has  built 
at  the  head  of  a  beautifully  ornamented  staircase  a 
lofty  raftered  chamber,  with  a  wide  stone  fireplace. 
Here  he  has  hangings  from  every  part  of  Europe, 
full-length  portraits  of  men  and  women,  chairs  in 
which  bishops  have  sat  in  council,  rugs  on  which 
houris  have  danced,  divans  on  which  they  have  un- 
doubtedly reclined,  tables  for  cards,  tables  for  tobacco, 
platforms  to  be  drawn  out  for  plays,  pianos  to  be  drawn 
in  for  songs.  It  is  all  frankly  pleasure-loving,  laughter- 
loving,  fun-loving,  like  the  man  himself,  who,  when  the 
cares  of  the  day  are  thrown  off,  finds  the  drawing-room 
irksome. 

The  man  of  simple  tastes  and  habits  of  reserve 
would  of  course  be  wretched  in  an  environment  like 
this.  One  finds  him,  therefore,  surrounding  himself 
with  all  that  makes  for  quiet  and  repose.  Thus,  there 
is  one  room  in  which  there  is  only  one  seat  provided 
besides  that  at  which  the  man  sits  before  his  table. 
It  is  a  very  beautiful  room.  Its  walls  and  ceiling  are 
of  old  carved  Flemish  oak.  No  objets  or  pictures  are 
allowed  to  distract  him  from  the  beauty  of  his  woods. 
Even  his  books  are  hidden  behind  secret  panels  opening 
with  secret  springs.  Over  the  fireplace  there  is  a 
wonderful  old  ormolu  clock.  But  that  is  all.  His 
writing  materials  are  spread   out   on   a  carved   oak 


76  Z\)c  Ibomc  Dignifieb 

table.  The  only  modem  appointment  visible  is  the 
inevitable  telephone;  even  the  chairs  and  their  covers 
date  back  several  centuries. 

Now  and  then  one  finds  the  same  simplicity  and 
reserve  even  among  young  men  to  whom  the  fascina- 
tions of  college  souvenirs  present  no  allurements  when 
furnishing.  One  of  the  best  examples  I  know  is  found 
in  a  city  house.  To  within  a  couple  of  feet  of  the 
ceiling  this  room  is  lined  with  books  behind  glass, 
the  cases  being  made  of  genuine  old  Dutch  wood, 
carved  columns  separating  the  various  compartments^ 
From  the  wooden  ceiling  the  bookcases  are  divided 
by  a  dull  gold  frieze  throwing  into  relief  busts  of  great 
writers.  The  fireplace  is  finished  in  old  blue  Dutch 
tiles.  Nothing  could  be  more  severe  and  self-re- 
strained, and  yet  nothing  is  cold.  The  red  leather- 
covered  chairs  and  sofas  invite  you,  the  books  laid 
out  on  the  bare  oak  tables,  the  peace  and  the  certainty 
of  it  all.  You  want  to  linger  there,  as  sometimes  you 
are  impelled  to  rest  beside  a  person  whose  good  breeding 
and  self-control  are  like  oases  in  wild  desert  tracts 
of  a  blistering  social  unrest. 

A  most  interesting  example  of  another  room  be- 
longing exclusively  to  young  men  is  found  in  a  country 
house.  To  find  it,  one  must  descend  below  the  dining- 
room  floor.  No  kitchens  being  on  this  level,  the 
descent  is  delightful.  This  room  is  finished  in  dull 
oak  shingles,  each  shingle  still  showing  the  axe  mark. 
The  brick  floor  is  covered  with  skins;  a  wide  divan 


»out)oir6,  H>cn0,  an^  Smoktna^'TRooms     77 

filling  one  end  of  the  room  is  covered  with  a  leopard 
skin,  as  are  the  cushions  scattered  over  it.  The  wide 
stone  fireplace  runs  up  to  the  raftered  ceiling.  Pipes 
are  laid  out  on  the  tables.  Pewter  drinking-cups 
and  tankards  are  set  out  for  instant  use,  or  arranged 
on  a  shelf  running  around  the  room,  just  above  the 
sporting  prints.  To  add  to  the  charm  of  the  room, 
there  opens  from  it  a  stone  courtyard,  protected  by 
a  coping,  ensuring  not  only  a  sense  of  privacy,  but 
protecting  one  from  a  sharp  dechvity.  Enchanting 
views  of  miles  and  miles  of  lovely  country  are  seen 
from  this  courtyard,  which  suggests  old  monastery 
gardens,  like  those  which  monks  find  lovely  on  warm 
summer  days. 

Many  fancies  prevail  in  the  creation  of  smoking- 
rooms.  A  Dutch  room  is  sometimes  copied,  with  its 
benches  of  wood  set  straight  against  the  panels,  its 
quaint  windows  and  bare  tables.  Sometimes  the 
Chinese  element  prevails  and  only  their  bronzes  and 
porcelains  are  visible.  Some  men  insist  upon  the 
billiard  table.  Others  display  their  hunting  trophies. 
Now  and  then  a  man  is  satisfied  only  with  the  beautiful. 
He  will  smoke  only  among  his  flowers,  or  in  what  he 
calls  his  conservatory.  Quite  another  taste  is  dis- 
played in  a  smoking-room  of  marble,  finished  with  a 
mosaic  ceiling  of  exceptional  loveliness.  Marble  col- 
umns support  the  doorways.  Against  one  wall  there 
is  an  Italian  fountain,  its  basin  filled  with  water 
plants.     A  marble  alcove,  domed  by  Sicilian  mosaics. 


78  Z\)c  1bou0e  2)ignif[e^ 

is  set  out  with  crimson  cushions.  Crimson  appears 
again  in  the  old  cathedral  chairs  placed  about  the 
room.  Furs  lie  on  the  floor.  It  is  a  room,  of  course, 
only  for  the  after-dinner  cigar,  and  never  for  the 
lounger. 


Chapter  VI 

Libraries 

Wl^  have,   perhaps,   more  libraries  to  the  square 
"  '       inch  than  any  other  country  in  Christendom. 
No  man,  acquiring  money  enough  to  build  a  house 
boasting   any  pretensions,    would   dare   to   omit   the 
library,  so  called.     The  women  of  his  household  would 
not  permit  it.     For  the  women  of  our  country  have 
been  educated  from  infancy  into  a  perception  at  least 
of  the  imposing  quality  of  a  book,  and  of  what  it  must 
stand  for  in  the  way  of  mental  and  social  equipment. 
This  education,  begun  in  the  nursery,  is  carried  on 
everywhere.     Our  magazines  and  periodicals,  scattered 
broadcast   throughout   the   land,    and   found   in   our 
humblest  dwellings,  begin  by  awakening  certain  in- 
tellectual   appreciations    which    our    public    schools 
and  colleges  go  on  developing.     The  wide-spread  in- 
fluence of  these  periodicals,  all  with  serious  purposes, 
all   bent   on   instructing    and   elevating,    instilling    a 
reverence  for  literature  and  an  interest  in  the  habits 
and  customs  of  authors,   marks  one  of  the  striking 

79 


8o  ZTbc  Ibouse  Bionifieb 

differences  existing  between  the  intellectual  machin- 
ery designed  for  the  cultivation  of  ideals  in  our  own 
country  and  that  of  older  civilisations. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  may  be  in  Germany,  but  in 
France,  certainly,  one  finds  no  periodic  literature 
corresponding  to  ours.  One  never  sees,  as  among 
us,  books  and  periodicals  on  the  tables  and  shelves 
of  the  farming  population,  nor  yet  in  the  houses  of 
the  small  village  proprietors.  Nor  could  any  stretch 
of  the  imagination  picture  a  French  peasant  girl  or 
small  shop-keeper's  daughter  poring  over  the  pages 
of  a  woman's  magazine,  attempting  to  change  her 
ideals  of  thought,  in  obedience  to  intellectual  or 
aesthetic  examples  provided  for  her  benefit.  Her 
father  has,  of  course,  the  Paris  paper  with  its  feuilleton, 
but  the  women  themselves  are  too  closely  bound  by 
tradition  to  be  influenced  by  descriptions  of  new 
schemes  in  library  decoration,  or  the  forming  of  reading 
clubs,  even  were  such  descriptions  given,  which  they 
are  not.  Her  aspirations  do  not  tend  toward  an 
intellectual  development,  neither  does  she  understand 
anything  about  the  prestige  of  a  book — even  of  a 
book  which  lies  idle  on  a  shelf ! 

With  us  the  case  is  different.  The  mental  cravings 
of  our  remotest  country  dwellers  are  fed  and  nurtured 
by  a  host  of  periodicals  in  which  the  very  book-shelf 
itself  is  portrayed  as  an  integral  part  of  the  home. 
It  is  shown  as  set  up  in  the  play-room.  The  young 
schoolgirl  is  taught  how  to  decorate  it.     The  college 


Xibraries  8i 

student  is  supplied  with  special  designs  for  its  manu- 
facture and  trimming,  her  own  efforts  being  repro- 
duced in  the  pages  of  different  household  pubhcations. 
What  more  natural,  then,  than  that  she  should  carry 
into  her  own  home,  when  she  has  one,  an  appreciation 
at  least  of  the  necessity  of  shelves?  or  that  she  should 
look  forward  to  designating  one  room  in  the  house  as 

a  library  ? 

One  other  idea  entices  her  in  her  relations  to  books 
—that  of  their  convenience  for  covering   walls.     For 
magazine  writers  have  taught  her,  what  others  have 
long  known— that  the  decorative  value  of  mere  book- 
covers  has  few  parallels.     The  colours  of  the  bindings, 
the  solidity  of  rank  and  file,  the  constant  play  of  light 
upon  the  lettering,  the  delicacy  of  minute  shadowings, 
the  variety  of  the  upright  hne  combined  with  a  certain 
regularity,  the  relief  of  the  horizontal  shelf,   create 
in  their  various  combinations  surfaces  which  to  some 
are  as  alluring  as  tapestries.     She  has  been  taught  all 
this,  instructed  even  into  the  sense  that  books  should 
be  regarded  as  friends,  with  their  faces  always  turned 
in  welcoming  fashion  toward  her.     She  has,  in  fact, 
been  taught  too  much  and  too  little.     Thus,  though 
she    may    have    begun    with    some    appreciation    for 
books,  she  loses  herself  altogether  at  last  in  the  allure- 
ment of  certain  ornamental  possibilities  provided  by 
the  shelf.     We  find  her  top  shelf,  for  instance,  covered 
with   a   display   of   the   conglomerate,    a    distracting 
collection  of  pictures  and  vases,  flowers  and  knick- 


82  ^be  1bou0e  Btgnifieb 

knacks,  odd  bits  of  silk  looped  up  at  the  comers, 
pieces  of  plaster  which  she  herself  has  bronzed.  Or 
we  discover  her  books  in  elaborately  carved  cases,  the 
doors  of  which  are  locked  in  summer,  the  key  mislaid, 
and  forgotten  when  winter  comes!  Or  even  in  more 
sumptuous  houses  we  come  upon  barricades  before 
the  bookcase  doors,  barricades  of  pottery  or  bronze 
so  heavy  that  no  one  but  a  man  servant  could  remove 
them,  in  a  moment  of  need;  and  this,  too,  in  houses 
where  pride  is  placed  upon  limited  editions.  Yet 
she  goes  on  calling  the  room  a  library,  though  the 
tables  are  covered  with  plants  and  flowers  with  never 
a  space  for  a  reading-lamp  nor  thought  of  a  chair 
drawn  up  within  reach  of  its  rays.  Still  a  library, 
though  family  workbags  hang  on  the  rockers,  though 
afternoon  tea  is  served  here,  and  nothing  but  a  paper 
is  perused  in  the  room. 

To  suppose  that  evidences  of  family  life  have  no 
right  of  existence  in  libraries  would  be  folly.  These 
evidences  make  part  of  their  charm,  but  they  must 
be  evidences  which  do  not  imply  the  inroads  of  con- 
flicting tastes,  the  usurpation  of  a  territory  consecrated 
to  special  purposes.  Some  sign,  it  would  seem,  should 
exist  of  books  being  at  least  occasionally  read. 

Unless  a  library  possesses  distinction,  it  fails  of 
its  great  compelling  note.  This,  of  course,  may  be 
said  of  every  part  of  a  house,  as  it  must  necessarily 
be   said   of   all   finished   productions,    even   a   man's 


LARGE   MAHOGANY    WRITING-TABLE   ORNAMENTED    IN   BRONZE 
SUPPOSED  TO   HAVE  BELONGED   TO   TALLEYRAND 


WRITING-DESK   OF   ROSEWOOD   MADE   FOR   LOUIS  XV 


Xibrariee  83 

manner  not  being  exempt  from  the  crucial  test.     Wher- 
ever too  strong  an  insistence  has  been  placed  upon 
the  purely  decorative,   distinction  disappears,— from 
a  library  most  of  aU.     Some  of  the  most  impressive 
examples  found  among  us  are  those  in  which  neither 
the  architect  nor  the  decorator  has  been  called  upon 
to  play  important  roles.     Old-fashioned  libraries  be- 
longing to  men  of  letters,  though  they  have  not  boasted 
so  much  as  a  raftered  ceiUng,  have  had  a  beauty  and 
compelling  dignity  about  them  unrivalled  by  many 
of  the  more  superb  creations  of  to-day,  however  elabo- 
rate  the   imported  chimneypiece  or  costly  the  cases. 
One   breathed   books   in   those   old   places,    and   the 
breath  of  the  books  was  the  breath  of  the  man.     How 
dehghtful   it   all  was,   how   reposeful,   and   what   an 
honour  one  felt  it  to  be  admitted  to  the  sanctuary. 
I  remember  such  a  library,  belonging  to  a  poet 
and  a  diplomat.     The  well-filled  shelves  ran  up  to 
the  ceiling  and  over  the  tops  of  the  doors,  down  the 
backs  of  the  doors  in  some  instances— every  available 
space  having  been  pressed  into  service.     More  books 
lay  on  the  tables;  and  newer  purchases  were  piled  in 
the    comers.     Stillness    reigned.     The    faint    enticing 
odour  of  old  calfskin  filled  the  room.      Deep  easy 
chairs  were  drawn  up  by  a  fire  with  ashes  so  thick 
that  the  coals  of  last  night's  blaze  would  be  blinking 
in  the  morning,  like  the  inextinguishable  sparks  of  the 
poet's  own  flame.     No  bric-a-brac  appeared,  and  the 
busts  that  were  there  were  the  busts  of  great  thinkers. 


84  Zbc  fbonec  Dig^lfie^ 

Then  the  man  himself,  a  very  part  of  the  atmosphere 
he  inhaled.  You  never  thought  of  the  colour  of  his 
curtains,  nor  what  kind  of  a  rug  the  sunlight  was 
playing  over  on  the  floor.  You  thought  of  his  kingly 
head,  his  luminous  eyes,  of  the  delicacy  of  his  hands 
as  he  took  down  a  book  and  turned  over  a  leaf  for 
you.  And  then  you  forgot  everything  in  what  he  was 
saying;  in  what  he  had  to  tell  you  of  this  book  and  that; 
in  what,  if  you  were  favoured,  he  would  sometimes 
read  you  from  a  brother  poet. 

Imagine  this  man  in  a  room  with  his  bookcases 
locked,  barricades  of  pottery  before  the  shelves,  or  a 
billiard-table  adorning  one  end  of  the  chamber! 

To  contend  that  the  distinction  which  this  man's 
library  possessed  was  dependent  on  its  meagreness  in 
decorative  detail,  would  be  as  stupid  as  to  declare 
simplicity  impossible  with  wealth. 

Distinction,  wherever  it  may  be  found,  springs 
from  an  air  of  authority,  the  authority  of  taste,  of 
knowledge,  of  cultivation  and  breeding  and  the  sure- 
ness  of  a  touch  that  is  tempered  by  experience.  It 
is  not  dependent  on  externals:  it  controls  externals 
and  uses  them.  A  man  therefore  who  puts  up  a 
Venetian  ceiling  in  his  library,  and  fills  the  room  with 
Renaissance  furniture,  may  create  an  atmosphere  as 
full  of  distinction  as  that  created  by  the  man  who 
leaves  his  plaster  to  be  stained  by  smoke,  or  his  books 
where  dust  can  reach  them.  Distinction  is  no  more 
present  in  one  environment  than  in  another.     It  is 


present  in  the  man,  in  his  method  of  employing  his 
medium;  and  interiors,  though  this  is  not  always 
remembered,  are  as  subtle  mediums  of  expression,  in 
some  hands,  as  the  painter's  pigments  themselves. 

In  one  library  that  I  call  to  mind,  where  the  archi- 
tect, on  the  other  hand,  has  been  employed  to  do  some 
of  his  most  important  work,  the  one  prevailing  note 
is  that   of   distinction.     The  library  itself  overlooks 
a  city  square  where  magnolias  blossom  in  the  spring, 
and  flowers  under  arching  trees  bloom  all  the  summer 
through.     To  one  who  enters  here,  the  quiet  stretches 
of  the  square  and  the  sky  beyond  seem  suddenly  and 
somehow  to  belong  rightfully  to  libraries,   so  great 
is  the  sense  of  repose  and  refreshment  they  inspire. 
It  is  an  outlook,  however,  not  often  possible  in  town, 
where  the  walls  of  adjoining  houses  press  close  against 
rear  windows,  or  stretches  of  asphalt  and  cobblestones 
make  the  only   foreground  in  front,  and  where  cur- 
tains, ground  glass,  or  anything  else  must  be  resorted 
to,  that  will  shut  out  the  view. 

Two  great  carved  stone  fireplaces  are  found  at  either 
end  of  this  Hbrary.  The  ceiling  is  panelled  and  carved 
as  are  the  doors.  Books  run  straight  up  to  the  cornice. 
The  room  being  lofty  and  of  magnificent  proportions, 
access  to  the  books  is  had  by  a  delicately  wrought  iron 
stairway  leading  to  a  balcony  running  round  the 
room  and  following  the  line  of  the  cases.  The  books 
themselves  are  protected  by  grills.  Rugs  cover  the 
floor.     Ample  sofas  are  drawn  up  to  the  fires.     Deep 


86  Zhc  1bou9e  Bignifiicb 

easy  chairs  are  placed  near  reading-lamps.  Peace  and 
plenty  prevail,  beauty  and  quiet  are  everywhere, 
though  old  and  young  read  here,  and  stimulating  talk 
is  heard. 

The  tables  in  this  room  are  of  old  oak,  polished 
by  three  centuries  of  use;  long  tables,  generous  in  their 
proportions  and  capable  of  holding  huge  volumes. 
They  are  tables  that  invite  you,  tables  that  are  made 
to  use,  and  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  too,  without 
feeling  that  you  must  first  upset  some  cherished 
arrangement  of  the  hostess,  in  the  way  of  flowers 
and  family  photographs.  Tables  like  these  belong 
to  libraries,  though  even  when  found  their  purposes 
seem  too  often  forgotten.  I  came  across  one  library 
table,  the  other  day,  over  which  an  elaborately  em- 
broidered and  fringed  silk  cover  had  been  hung.  The 
owner,  having  evidently  been  instructed  in  the  value 
of  folds,  had  thought  proper  to  wrinkle  this  cover  into 
a  dozen  of  them,  each  fold  being  held  in  its  place  by 
a  book !  To  have  ventured  to  pick  up  a  volume  would 
have  meant  to  bring  the  whole  arrangement  down 
about  one's  feet.  But  what  a  flashlight  it  threw  on 
the  intellectual  propensities  of  the  family.  And  how 
it  gave  the  lie  to  the  boast  of  the  shelves. 

Table  covers,  falling  to  the  ground,  have  no  place 
in  libraries.  Flat  mats  may  be  used,  but  never  when 
they  are  in  danger  of  slipping  and  sliding.  The  table 
cover,  however,  is  a  snare  in  which  the  ambitions  of 
the  inexperienced  are   apt   to  become  entangled;  it 


embodies  a  temptation  too  great  to  be  resisted,  among 
those  who  perhaps  have  picked  up  a  piece  of  old 
brocade  or  damask,  and  feel  the  need  of  it  now  to  soften 
what  is  sometimes  called  a  line.  The  lines  of  a  beau- 
tiful table  ought  never  to  be  concealed.  They  repre- 
sent the  work  of  distinguished  designers,  who  have 
laboured  as  earnestly  to  produce  the  beautiful  m 
furniture  as  the  architect  himself  has  worked  in  the 
creation  of  the  room.  If  the  table  is  so  ugly  that  it 
ought  to  be  concealed,  it  should  never  have  been 
purchased— certainly  not  for  a  library.  And  yet, 
I  could  name  libraries  representing  great  wealth  and 
embodying  much  pride,  in  which  these  table  covers 
appear,  long  enough  to  touch  the  ground,  and  some- 
times to  be  stumbled  over. 

Old  and  young  read  in  another  room  of  simpler 
appointments,  yet  one  in  which  there  is  the  same 
compelling  note  of  distinction.  The  doors  and  wood- 
work are  of  oak  finished  with  delicately  turned  mould- 
ings. The  bookcases  run  just  to  the  level  of  a  tall  man's 
elbow.  The  walls  show  the  deep  red  of  some  fine 
old  brocatelle.  There  is  no  frieze,  but  there  is  a 
cornice  of  oak,  so  beautiful  in  its  proportions  and 
fine  reserve,  that  the  eye,  lifted  from  the  page,  finds  in 
it  perpetual  repose.  The  wide  chimneypiece  is  of  black 
marble,  showing  grains  of  yellow.  Over  it  is  placed  a 
bronze  of  Dante.  No  other  "ornaments"  deface  it. 
The  oak  table  is  wide,  and  unencumbered  with  a  cloth. 
A  bowl  of  fresh  roses  always  stands  on  it,  but  without 


88  Z\)c  Ibouee  Bignifieb 

interfering  with  the  books.  The  pictures  above  the 
shelves  are  grouped,  not  scattered,  wide  stretches  of 
wall-space  being  left  unencumbered,  enhancing  the  im- 
pression of  quiet  dignity.  In  the  deep,  ample  chairs  the 
young  son  reads,  and  the  daughters,  still  at  school,  pore 
over  their  books.  You  know  at  once  that  no  pretences 
exist  here,  and  that  even  special  and  expensive  bind- 
ings do  not  place  the  volumes  that  they  cover  out 
of  reach  of  youthful  fingers. 

The  child  in  the  library  is  a  picture  over  which 
the  imagination  loves  to  dwell,  and  the  library  in 
which  little  ones  are  permitted  to  browse  is  one  that 
satisfies  something  more  than  the  histrionic  or  the 
sentimental  sense.  Certain  certified  values  are  stamped 
with  their  presence.  You  know  what  books  must 
really  mean  to  the  family,  what  they  will  always  con- 
tinue to  mean  to  the  child  of  the  house,  not  as  mere 
acquisitions  or  "properties,"  but  as  part  and  habit 
of  a  daily  thought,  out  of  which  still  other  libraries 
will  go  on  being  formed.  But  it  must  not  be  the 
library  in  which  playthings  take  the  place  of  books, 
a  room  that  represents  the  overflow  of  the  nursery. 
There  must  be  the  preservation  of  certain  dignities, 
and  this  obligation  respected  there  can  never  be  the 
desecration  so  frequently  seen,  in  the  intrusion  and 
obtrusion  of  alien  elements  representing  lucky  finds 
or  beribboned  purchases.  Without  dignity  the  feeling 
of  the  library  is  destroyed.  Dignity,  however,  is  a 
much  abused  term,  frequently  met  with  in  periodicals 


u   p 


7.    ^ 


^   c 


z   ;^ 


Xibranes  89 

where  it  is  applied  to  the  stiff  and  the  hard,  even 
awkwardness  being  occasionally  confused  with  it,  as 
it  sometimes  is  in  the  manner  of  a  man  assximing  a 
pose  to  cover  a  deficiency.  Dignity  is  like  tenderness 
— an  attribute  of  strength,  and  unafraid. 

Dignity  perishes  absolutely  in  a  library,  how- 
ever well  designed,  into  which  one  allows  oneself  to 
introduce  what  are  called  "pretty  things."  Over- 
decorated  flower-pots  have  no  business  there — pots 
with  crinkled  paper-holders,  kept  in  place  by  puffs  of 
satin  ribbon,  or  pots  set  in  straw  baskets,  gilded  and 
painted,  the  handles  bedecked  with  more  satin  bows. 
Why  should  floral  creations  like  these  be  permitted 
on  library  tables?  And  why  should  so  great  an  ab- 
horrence exist  for  the  earthenware  pot,  which  in 
reality  has  a  certain  value  of  its  own,  often  supplying 
with  its  sober  tones  just  the  note  of  colour  needed? 
The  weakness  for  the  fancy  flower-pot,  however,  is 
one  that  assails  even  those  in  high  places.  I  saw 
one,  a  cheap,  ugly  thing  of  silvered  straw  and  con- 
taining a  palm,  set  down  at  the  foot  of  a  marble  stair- 
case on  a  marble  floor,  and  in  a  marble  hall,  too,  with 
Spanish  velvets  hanging  on  the  walls.  And  I  have 
seen  libraries  of  great  beauty  of  design,  their  harmo- 
nies quite  destroyed  by  the  presence  of  a  variety 
of  these  abominations,  filling  every  available  window 
and  table  space. 

The  preservation  of  these  harmonies  should  be 
the  earnest  study  of  all  owners  of  Hbraries,  especially 


go  Zhc  1bou6c  M^nifieb 

of  those  to  whom  the  problem  is  new,  its  solution  not 
more  or  less  an  inherited  instinct.  Among  such  as 
these,  the  question  of  colour  should  present  itself  as 
one  of  supreme  importance,  no  colour  being  chosen 
until  it  has  been  studied  by  night  and  by  day.  Shad- 
ows thrown  by  beams  of  sunlight  entering  through 
a  window  at  noon  will  soften  certain  tones  harassing 
to  the  eye  when,  with  the  evening,  the  curtains  are 
drawn  straight  and  the  rays  of  the  lamp  fall  directly 
upon  them.  Textiles,  too,  should  be  studied  and  those 
avoided  having  figures  so  pronounced  as  to  rob  a  room 
of  its  quiet,  becoming  with  their  obtrusiveness  as 
distracting  as  loud  talking.  All  vivid  contrasts  should 
be  shunned,  all  over-accentuations.  Colour  tones 
and  their  gradations  should  be  felt  like  a  sympathetic 
atmosphere,  stealing  over  and  enveloping  you,  not 
breaking  into  your  mood  as  with  clarion  notes.  Per- 
sonal predilections  may  incline  one  to  reds  or  greens, 
but  the  general  impression  should  be  uniform,  pre- 
serving one  key. 

Deep-toned  reds  appear  in  most  of  our  best  and 
newest  libraries.  In  one  of  stately  proportions,  this 
red  is  seen  in  the  long  stretches  of  East  Indian  carpet, 
specially  woven  for  it  and  entirely  covering  the  inlaid 
floor  to  within  a  few  inches  of  the  cases.  It  appears 
again  in  the  old  velvet  of  the  walls,  a  marvellous  old 
velvet  in  which  the  red  seems  to  fall  away,  while  the 
nap,  as  it  takes  up  the  light,  has  almost  a  vibrant 
quality,   robbing  the  room  of  any  sense  of  gloom. 


XtDrarles  91 

Such  a  red  on  a  flat  surface  would  have  absorbed  the 
light  and  produced  an  impression  of  dulness.  It 
would  have  made  itself  too  strongly  felt  in  a  figured 
stuff.  In  this  velvet  it  became  kindly-tempered, 
like  a  haze. 

The  arched  ceiling  holds  an  old  canvas  painted  a 
century  or  more  ago  and  filled  with  superb  allegorical 
figures  in  which  the  reds  of  royal  robes  predominate. 
The  ceiling  itself  is  supported  by  a  coloured  cornice 
and  frieze  carved  in  high  relief.  The  bookcases  of 
carved  black  oak  are  low,  nothing  but  bronzes  being 
permitted  upon  them.  Carved  black  oak  columns 
support  the  door  and  window  openings,  while  delicately 
turned  mouldings  alone  appear  round  the  window 
frames.  The  over-doors  are  filled  with  charming 
tapestries  framed  in  black  oak.  The  huge  carved 
stone  fireplace  is  Renaissance,  as  are  the  tables,  pure 
in  style  and  genuine.  The  chairs  are  high-backed, 
the  sofas  low  and  alluring,  their  cushions  covered  with 
old  tapestries,  beautiful  in  tone.  A  fine  respect  for 
detail  is  everywhere  apparent.  Thus  the  reading- 
lamps  are  not  modem  inventions  of  commercial 
designers,  adorned  by  lace  and  satin  shades,  but  rare 
old  pieces  of  bronze  and  porcelain  into  which  electric 
bulbs  have  been  skilfully  introduced.  It  is  a  room 
in  which  all  the  resources  of  wealth  have  been  brought 
into  play,  yet  one  in  which  the  visitor  feels  the  sure, 
discriminating  touch  of  the  man  and  woman  with 
whom  taste  and  knowledge  have  moved  hand  in  hand. 


9!2  ^be  Ibouse  Dignifict) 

You  know  at  once  that  it  was  not  furnished  in  a  given 
time  and  then  pronounced  finished,  but  that  it  was 
allowed  to  grow,  as  such  rooms  should — growing,  how- 
ever, without  deviating  from  well  considered  lines. 

A  grey-green,  softened  by  dim  yellowish  tones, 
lends  colour  to  another  delightful  library.  The  mate- 
rial is  an  old  brocatelle,  and  appears  on  the  walls  above 
the  high  cases,  and  again  in  the  curtains.  Green, 
much  lower  in  tone  as  it  should  be,  covers  the  ample 
sofas  drawn  up  by  the  fire.  The  old  oak  ceiling  is 
panelled,  as  are  the  doors.  The  great  chimneypiece 
is  also  of  carved  oak,  old  English  in  design,  and  runs 
to  the  ceiling.  Broad  windows  finish  two  sides  of  the 
room,  one  opening  on  to  a  stretch  of  lovely  country, 
the  other  on  to  a  wide  marble  veranda,  shaded  by 
awnings  in  summer,  and  enclosed  by  glass  and  filled 
with  plants  in  winter. 

A  yellow  oak  of  beautiful  grain  enters  into  the 
construction  of  still  another  well-known  library  in  a 
neighbouring  town,  a  town  with  open  squares  and 
spaces,  and  room  enough  for  trees  and  grass  to  grow 
before  the  houses.  Trees,  indeed,  press  close  against 
the  windows  of  this  room,  filling  it  with  a  sense  of 
green  coolness  in  summer,  and  enticing  the  eye  in 
winter,  by  the  beauty  of  bare  branches  against  the 
sky.  The  walls  are  entirely  covered  with  books,  the 
cases  running  from  the  floor  to  the  carved  and  panelled 
oak  ceiling.  The  only  space  left  anywhere  for  a  pic- 
ture is  over  the  mantel,  where  a  landscape,  subdued 


Xibrariee  93 

in  tone,  is  set  in  the  panel.  The  fireplace  itself  is 
low,  and  built  of  green  tiles,  rich  in  colour  and  blending 
charmingly  with  the  yellow  of  the  woods.  Dark  red 
velvet  bound  by  a  dull  gold  braid  hangs  at  the  windows. 
Dark  red  also  covers  the  furniture.  The  carved  oak 
cases  are  supported  by  enclosed  cupboards,  in  which 
pamphlets  are  hidden.  The  tops  of  the  cupboards 
form  a  shelf  running  round  the  room,  and  wide  enough 
to  hold  odd  volumes,  a  convenient  arrangement  and 
one  that  adds  enormously  to  the  comfort  of  a  beautiful 
interior. 

The  white  library  is  not  without  its  votaries,  the 
favourite  model  followed  being  that  found  at  Versailles. 
In  one  instance  where  such  a  copy  has  been  made, 
and  the  shelves  filled  with  books  in  special  bindings, 
the  effect   has  been  spoiled  by  the  introduction   of 
modem  upholstered  French  furniture,  with  silk  hang- 
ings  of   a  palpable   newness   of   design,   drawing   all 
attention  to  themselves,  and  leaving  to  the  books  but 
a   secondary   consideration.     You   forget   the   books, 
indeed,  until  you  rouse  yourself  and  determine  to  pay 
them  some  heed.    In  another  instance,  however,  where 
this   same   model   appears,   the   introduction   of   the 
modem  note  in  textiles  and  fumiture  becomes  alto- 
gether pardonable,  so  obvious  is  it  that  one  has  made 
the  innovation  for  the  sake  of  a  congenial  tone.     A 
delicate  green  broken  by  white  appears   above  the 
high  cases,  and  forms  a  frieze.     The  same  colour  hangs 
at  the  windows  and  covers  the  chairs  and  sofas,  the 


94  ^be  1bou0e  2)ignitie^ 

material  being  a  velvet  with  a  silvery  sheen.  A 
darker  green,  unbroken  by  figures,  overspreads  the 
floor.  The  room  is  lovely,  but  not  so  lovely  as  to 
cause  one  to  lose  the  sense  of  substantial  books,  or 
to  miss  its  note  of  real  distinction. 


Chapter  VII 

Bedrooms,  Bathrooms,  and  Dressing-rooms 

A  S  one  of  my  greatest  disappointments  connected 
'**■  with  certain  houses  has  lain  in  discovering,  on 
a  bedroom  floor,  that  the  imagination  which  ran 
riot  in  salons  and  dining-rooms  had  here  become 
exhausted  and  fallen  flat,  the  brass  bedstead  and 
conventional  couch  being  all  that  was  possible  to 
those  whose  love  of  magnificence  had  led  them  into 
a  display  of  tapestries  and  carvings  in  more  conspicuous 
places  below, — so,  in  other  houses,  it  has  been  my 
keenest  pleasure  to  find,  on  ascending  carved  or  marble 
stairways,  beauty  still  awaiting  me,  ready  to  accom- 
pany me  wherever  I  wandered,  even  in  and  out  of 
secret  places,  beguiling  and  refreshing  me  as  I  loitered 
or  moved  on. 

And  nowhere  have  I  found  this  pleasure  so  poign- 
ant as  in  one  particular  dwelling-place  where,  from 
the  very  engine-room  below  ground,  to  the  last  detail 
in  the  servants'  quarters,  nothing  has  been  overlooked 
or  forgotten  which  could  make  for  the  truest  or  the 
best. 

95 


g6  Zlyc  Ibouse  BiQniecb 

The  bedrooms  are  a  perpetual  delight.  To  enter 
that  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  one  passes  through 
the  deep,  wide,  white  marble  doorway  of  the  square 
upper  hall,  hung  with  tapestries  and  lighted  by  a  dome. 
Above  this  doorway,  the  marble  of  which  is  a  repe- 
tition of  that  forming  the  balustrade,  there  is  a  beau- 
tiful over-door  of  charming  design,  framing  a  Tiepolo. 
The  doors  themselves  are  of  old  French  oak — double 
doors,  in  fact, — their  oblong  panels  so  exquisitely 
carved  in  vines  and  flowers  that  connoisseurs  from 
Europe  come  to  see  them.  Two  other  duplicate  sets 
of  double  doors  are  found  inside;  one  opening  into  the 
dressing-room  of  the  mistress,  the  other  into  the 
master's  bathroom. 

The  room  is  of  ample  proportions,  being  some 
twenty-three  by  forty  feet.  It  is  entirely  of  the  same 
old  French  oak  as  the  doors,  the  oblong  panels,  of 
Louis  the  Sixteenth's  day,  being  ornamented  at  their 
tops  with  single  festoons  of  flowers  of  great  grace 
and  loveliness,  showing  the  same  marvellous  carving. 
So  delightful  are  the  proportions  everywhere  in  this 
room,  so  satisfying  the  door  and  window  openings, 
the  square  of  the  panels  being  relieved  by  the  rounded 
arch  of  the  windows  and  over-mantel,  so  delightful  is 
the  tone  of  the  wood,  so  exquisite  every  detail,  that, 
even  without  its  furniture,  it  has  always  had,  for  those 
who  watched  its  slow  completion,  a  dignity  and  repose 
all-compelling — a  dignity  and  repose  that  have  never 
been  lost  during  that  ofttimes  destructive  process  of 


.     ^.      .  Photograph  by  Baker 

McKim,  Mead  &:  White,  Architects 

BEDROOM    IN    "  HILLSTEAD,"    THE    RESIDENCE   OF   MR.    ALFRED    A.    POPE,    FARMINGTON,    CONX. 

The  formality  of  the  pure  Colonial  is  here  unrelieved,  even  the  fire-board  being  retained. 
Its  coldness  and  severity  are  in  marked  contrast  to  some  modern  departures 


McKim,  Mead  &  White,  Architects  ^^,  ,„,      t  ^x^r-    TCTAisin 

BEDROOM   IN  THE   COUNTRY   HOUSE   OF   MR.    CLARENCE  H.    MACKAY  AT   ROSLYN.   LONG   ISLAND 


36ebroom0,  Batbroonte,  Brceeina^roome     97 

adding  curtains  and  cushions.  Now  that  the  room 
is  done,  its  beauty  is  but  enhanced,  like  that  of  a 
beautiful  woman  who  knows  when  and  where  to  wear 
a  regal  robe.  No  odds  and  ends  of  little  things  appear; 
no  pictures.  Inharmonious  colours  do  not  jar,  nor 
does  one  suffer  the  shock  of  discovering  in  a  beautiful 
environment  some  cheap  or  inadequate  textile.  The 
inlaid  floor  is  covered  with  a  specially  woven  Savon- 
nerie  rug  showing  the  old  French  blue-green  of  the 
period.  This  same  carefully  selected  tone  is  seen  in 
the  thick  curtains  of  grosgrain  silk  which  are  bordered 
with  the  velvet  brocade  of  the  bed  hangings.  The 
Louis  Sixteenth  sofas  and  chairs  are  covered  with 
tapestry.  Like  the  tables  and  commodes,  this  fur- 
niture has  a  well  authenticated  and  historical  value. 
The  bed,  standing  on  a  dais,  is  gilt,  and  richly  carved 
in  high  relief,  showing  wreaths  of  flowers  falling  from 
a  basket,  a  design  repeated  in  the  framework  of  the 
chairs  and  sofas.  From  the  gilded  canopy  hang  the 
bed  curtains  of  velvet  brocade,  the  only  copy  ever 
made  in  France  of  that  which  covers  the  bed  of  Marie 
Antoinette  now  in  the  Louvre,  and,  like  hers,  lined 
with  blue-green  silk.  This  brocade  also  covers  the 
bed.  In  it  deep  greens  and  dull  golds,  relieved  by 
minor  notes  of  red,  are  so  marvellously  blended  in  tone 
that  one  who  studies  the  material  experiences  a  posi- 
tive thrill,  as  one  sometimes  will  from  flowers  beau- 
tifully massed.  The  marble  mantel  is  pure  Louis 
Sixteenth,  the  over-mirror  enclosed  in  a  panel  which 


98  ^be  Ibouse  2)ignifie^ 

repeats  the  receding  arch  of  the  window  openings. 
Every  detail  of  the  fireplace,  from  its  gilt  clock  and 
candelabra  to  its  chenets  and  shovel,  like  every  other 
detail  of  applique  and  ornament  found  in  the  room, 
has  been  carefully  studied.  No  copies  have  been 
substituted  for  originals. 

Now  beautiful  and  rich  as  are  all  the  details,  the 
charm  of  the  whole  would  instantly  vanish,  as  they 
do  from  so  many  interiors,  were  a  single  one  of  these 
details  made  so  obtrusive  as  to  be  for  a  single  moment 
out  of  the  picture.  One  who  enters  gets  atmosphere 
first,  not  the  accentuation  of  prominent  possessions. 
Personality  is  pre-eminent — that  personality  which, 
eliminating  itself  for  the  sake  of  the  whole,  ends 
by  permeating  the  whole,  becoming  its  dominating 
element.  And  it  is  only  when  this  is  done,  that 
a  house  is  really  made  to  seem,  as  it  were,  a  set- 
ting for  its  mistress,  as  a  well  -  designed  band  of 
gold  on  the  finger  becomes  a  setting  for  a  faultless 
pearl.  Few  people,  especially  among  those  found  in 
sumptuous  environments,  ever  seem  to  be  so  framed. 
They  do  not  in  reality  belong  to  magnificent  settings, 
even  to  those  with  which  they  have  thought  it  de- 
sirable to  surround  themselves.  Some  are  dominated 
by  the  sense  of  their  own  splendours.  Some  are  al- 
ways anxious,  being  ever  on  the  alert  for  possible 
accidents  or  evidences  of  things  out  of  place.  Some 
are  like  wanderers,  for  ever  missing  the  one  note  of 
self -elimination  which  would  bring  them  into  harmony. 


CORNER    IN    BEDROOM    OF    LOUIS    XV.,    AT    VERSAILLES 

The  woodwork  is  carved  and  gilded 


a6e^room6,  Batbrooms,  Breesing^roonte    99 

It  is  only  now  and  then  that  one  finds  men  and  women 
like  the  mistress  of  this  bedroom,  to  whom  houses 
are  like  words — arbitrary  symbols  for  conveying  new 
meanings  in  old  things,  new  aspects  of  time-worn 
truths,  new  graces  and  warmth,  new  revelations  of 
love  and  life,  and  that  perennial  sustenance  which 
beauty,  well  established,  lends. 

For  the  possessor  of  a  bedroom  such  as  this,  to 
provide  herself  with  a  bathroom  having  damask- 
covered  walls  and  lace -trimmed  toilet  tables  (as 
some  have  done)  would  have  been  an  impossibility. 
Therefore  the  bathroom  which  here  adjoins  the 
dressing-room  is  of  marble;  the  great  wide  panels, 
divided  by  white  columns,  are  of  a  sea-green  marble 
broken  by  white,  delicate  as  water  sprays,  and  full 
of  liquid  tones,  as  cool  and  refreshing  as  water  itself. 
Above  these  panels  rises  the  rounded  arch  of  the 
mosaic  ceiling,  from  which,  by  silver  chains,  hangs  an 
old  silver  church  lantern,  now  holding  an  electric 
light.  Over  the  marble  basin  hangs  the  mirror  in  an 
antique  silver  frame  with  beaten  figures.  The  bath 
and  the  shower  are  approached  by  descending  two 
marble  steps,  the  platform  being  protected  by  a  balus- 
trade with  delicately  carved  pilasters. 

In  contrast  to  this  lovely  example,  I  wish  that  I 
might  describe  some  other  bathrooms  belonging  to 
houses  in  which  every  law  held  to  be  appropriate  here, 
has  been  broken;  where  artificial  roses  appear  in 
decoration,  where  palms  are  set  out  in  wicker  pots, 


loo  ^be  Ibouse  DignifieD 

stuffs  cover  the  walls,  and  carpets  are  nailed  to  the 
floor;  and  this  in  bathrooms,  too,  where  the  extrava- 
gance of  tubs  and  gilded  faucets  has  been  indulged 
to  its  limit.  Even  to  hint  at  such  seems  like  a  viola- 
tion of  confidence,  and  yet  it  must  be  maintained 
again,  that  to  have  any  value  at  all,  a  discussion  of 
houses  must  be  like  that  of  any  other  work  of  so-called 
art — the  critic  on  the  lookout  for  excellence  must 
run  the  risk  of  offending  a  feeUng,  loth  as  he  may  be 
to  do  so.  And  certainly,  it  would  seem,  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  laws  of  good  taste  should  not  be  as 
carefully  preserved  in  bathrooms  as  in  any  other  part 
of  a  house.  We  as  a  people,  odd  as  it  may  seem,  need 
now  and  then  to  have  this  truth  impressed  upon  us. 
For,  although  our  bathrooms  are  the  pride  of  our 
country,  the  excellence  of  our  plumbing  a  national 
boast  against  which  we  sometimes  offset  even  the 
glories  of  old  palaces,  we  have  not  yet  learned  much 
that  the  so-called  tubless  foreigner  could  teach  us. 

Up  among  the  wild  hills  of  the  island  of  Majorca, 
I  came  across  a  bathroom.  The  walls  w^ere  tiled. 
Cool  green  vines  grew  against  the  windows.  The  tub 
was  of  an  ancient  marble,  stained  and  richly  carved. 
The  floor  was  bare  except  of  furs.  No  hangings  de- 
faced the  openings.  No  lace-trimmed  toilet  tables 
appeared.  And  who  of  us  does  not  remember  that 
other  bathroom  in  the  Pitti  Palace,  with  its  marble 
columns  and  mosaic,  its  beautiful  lines  and  propor- 
tions,   its   observance   everywhere   of   the    fitness   of 


Be^room6,  Batbroome,  DrcesiriG^rooms    loi 

things?  We  who  boast  so  much  forget  this  fitness,  go 
on  ignoring  it  both  in  high  and  low  places, — we  who 
nail  carpets  to  the  floors  of  bathrooms,  hang  stuffs 
on  the  walls,  and  are  sometimes  even  careless  about 
the  towels  displayed,  some  tradition  of  an  earlier 
domestic  environment  impelling  us  to  a  thoughtless 
choice  of  red  or  blue  borders.  It  is  only  among  the 
genuine  lovers  of  fine  detail  that  one  finds  towels  as 
carefully  considered  in  quality  and  design  as  the  bed 
or  table  linen.  Here  lace  like  that  bordering  old 
church  linens  is  found  edging  some,  the  lace  being 
repeated  at  times  as  an  insertion.  The  monograms, 
which  in  many  instances  are  embroidered,  are  in 
others  formed  by  drawing  the  thread  of  the  linen  itself, 
a  new  and  difficult  departure  in  the  needle-work  of 
to-day.  Some  of  these  towels  are  specially  woven,  and 
all  are  interesting  in  themselves. 

To  return,  however,  to  bedrooms.  There  is  one, 
the  woodwork  of  which,  having  already  become 
historical,  has  been  brought  bodily  from  the  other  side. 
The  panelling  is  that  of  Louis  Fifteenth's  day,  the 
stain  a  French  grey.  The  over-doors  are  filled  with 
tapestry.  Tapestry,  again,  fills  a  wide  panel  forming 
the  closet  door,  and  appears  once  more  in  the  fur- 
niture, one  of  its  tones  being  taken  up  in  the  silk  bed- 
and  window-curtains.  The  bathroom  connected  with 
this  room  is  of  white  marble,  covered  with  a  huge 
white  polar-bear  skin.  Nothing  else  is  permitted 
except  the  toilet  table  and  chair. 


I02  ^be  Ibouse  2)igmtle^ 

Then  there  is  another,  set  apart  for  young  girls. 
This  is  in  white.  The  twin  beds  have  ring-doves 
sculptured  on  them.  From  the  canopy,  to  match, 
are  hung  the  curtains  of  silvery  blue  taffeta  caught  up 
by  garlands  of  pink  roses,  and  bordered  by  a  band 
in  which  these  roses  are  worked  in  miniature.  The 
same  border  appears  on  the  blue  taffeta  spread  and 
on  the  window-curtains.  The  furniture  repeats  the 
fashion  of  the  bed.  It  is  a  lovely  room,  which  those 
who  see  go  forth  at  once  to  copy,  but  which  can  never 
be  reproduced  by  any  who  miss  the  secret  of  its  pro- 
portions and  its  combinations  of  tones. 

The  bedrooms  just  described  are  found  in  town 
houses,  but  the  same  respect  for  detail  and  harmony 
is  shown  in  certain  of  our  country  houses,  where  a 
marked  departure  has  been  made  from  the  customs 
prevailing  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  Then  most 
of  the  furnishings  represented  outgrown  articles 
from  town,  ousted  because  shabby  or  because  the  city 
house  was  being  made  over,  the  tufted  red  rep  sofa 
being  not  infrequently  seen,  and  even  the  gilt  chairs 
and  tables  of  commerce.  Now,  happily,  the  subject 
being  more  carefully  studied,  one  finds,  even  in  remote 
and  out-of-the-way  comers,  lovely  houses,  centres 
of  an  ever-widening  influence  making  for  the  beautiful 
and  appropriate.  And  how  deHghtful  it  is  to  enter 
some  of  these!  One  bedroom  has  its  leaded  windows 
opening  on  to  a  wide  marble  loggia  overlooking  a 
stretch  of  river  and  mountain  country  extending  for 


Bedrooms,  Batbrooms,  DresBing^roome     1 03 

miles.  The  walls,  of  old  English  oak,  are  panelled 
in  squares  of  charming  proportions.  These  are  finished 
by  a  cornice  supporting  an  oak  ceiling  following  in  its 
design  a  Jacobean  model.  Pure  Jacobean,  too,  are  all 
the  appointments  of  couch,  chairs,  and  tables.  Red, 
which  is  seldom  interesting  in  bedrooms,  is  here  felt 
to  be  an  appropriate  colour,  appearing  as  it  does  in 
the  mellowed  tones  of  old  silk  damask  hung  about  the 
four-post  bedstead  and  covering  the  mattress,  and  again 
in  the  cushions  of  the  quaint  Jacobean  couch.  The 
same  tone  of  red  is  seen  in  the  velvet  tester,  heavily 
embroidered  in  gold. 

In  this  room,  too,  one  feels  again  that  fine  sense 
of  individual  reserve  which  so  strongly  distinguished 
the  Louis  Sixteenth  bedroom  to  which  reference  has 
been  made.  A  respect  for  environment  has  been  shown 
— for  the  object  itself  and  for  its  own  fullest  meaning. 
Without  this  respect  all  rooms  must  fail  in  commanding 
attention.  It  must  be,  though,  a  reserve  which  in- 
spires confidence,  and  is  exercised  by  those  who,  pos- 
sessing many  equipments,  have  mastered  the  secret 
of  occasions  as  it  were,  the  knowledge  when  to  display 
and  when  to  cease  from  displaying.  The  reserve  of 
the  unequipped  and  afraid  of  themselves  is  another 
affair,  and  generally  betrays  itself  in  an  exhibition 
of  the  crude,  the  bare,  and  the  awkward. 

Although  the  bedrooms  of  master  and  mistress 
are  for  the  most  part  separate  in  these  days,  they  are 
almost  always  made  to  follow  the  same  general  fashion. 


I04  Z\)c  Ibouee  2)lgmfieb 

In  this  instance  the  master's  room  is  also  panelled  in 
old  oak.  Here,  however,  the  colours  introduced  are 
greys  and  grey-greens,  shown  in  the  frieze  and  ceiling, 
and  in  the  coverings  for  the  furniture.  For  colours, 
as  they  should  be  everywhere,  are  as  carefully  chosen 
in  this  particular  house  as  the  details  of  epochs  them- 
selves, which  is  why  the  effect  is  everywhere  so  satis- 
fying. There  are  greys  and  greens,  golds  and  blues, 
delicate  mauves  and  pinks,  found  now  in  old  velvets 
or  silk,  and  now,  their  place  being  proper,  in  so  simple 
a  textile  as  the  sateen  of  a  window  cushion,  selected 
because  of  its  ability  to  convey  a  certain  impression. 
The  result  of  it  all  is,  that  the  sleeping-apartments 
inspire  you  not  only  with  a  sense  of  promised  repose 
to  the  body,  but  with  that  rarer  sense  of  an  assured 
refreshment  of  mind,  never  possible  in  rooms  that  are 
overcrowded  with  stuffs  or  inharmonious  in  colour. 
To  arrive  at  the  desideratum  one  must  know  not 
only  how  to  choose  colours,  but  how  and  when  and 
where  to  repeat  them,  how  to  blend  and  how  to  con- 
trast them.  One  must  be  sensitive  to  pitch  and  key, 
never  getting  off  them  as  one  does  sometimes  who 
allows  blue  greens  and  yellow  greens  to  appear  side 
by  side,  not  alone  in  a  stuff,  but  where  porcelains  and 
stuffs  are  seen  in  juxtaposition.  The  keynote  must 
be  first  struck.  This  may  be  given  by  the  walls,  or 
by  some  object  of  importance  from  which  the  rest 
of  the  room  is  to  be  built  up.  In  one  room,  the  bed 
itself  strikes  the  note.     It  is  an  interesting  example 


IBebrooms,  iBatbrooms,  Dressing-rooms   105 

of  old  Italian,  richly  carved.  The  woodwork  is  a 
faded  blue,  the  figures  being  gilded.  This  blue,  then, 
is  repeated  in  the  old  silk  of  the  walls  and  in  the  blue 
of  the  carpet.  The  gold  is  repeated  in  the  sconces  and 
the  marble  ornaments. 

The  traditions  of  almost  every  foreign  school  have 
been  followed  in  the  bedrooms  of  the  day.  We  find 
the  Chinese  influence  as  it  affected  the  Europeans  a 
century  or  more  ago.  We  discover  the  Spanish  with 
its  rich  velvets  and  gold,  the  Dutch  with  its  carvings, 
the  late  and  early  English,  and  that  which  is  known 
in  our  own  country  as  the  Colonial.  With  these  latter 
we  have  some  charming  chintzes,  although  we  often 
find  the  yellow  damask  of  our  more  sumptuous  early 
American  houses.  The  furniture  is  not  always  genu- 
ine. One  woman  in  town  points  laughingly  to  the 
rear  windows  of  a  Sixth  Avenue  flat,  in  which  lives 
a  man  who  makes  the  very  finest  Hepplewhite  fur- 
niture, that  is  afterwards  sold  on  a  more  pretentious 
avenue.  The  laugh  is  echoed  everywhere,  and  rightly, 
it  would  seem,  since  the  very  elect  are  deceived.  The 
wonder  is  that  men  should  be  so  reluctant  to  confess  to 
the  possession  of  a  copy.  When  the  architect  copies 
he  does  so  frankly,  and  there  is  always  his  own  in- 
dividual touch  to  give  his  work  distinction.  Why  not 
give  as  much  credit  to  the  furniture-maker?  He,  too, 
has  his  own  talents  to  which  honour  is  not  sufficiently 
paid. 

And  just  here  it  may  be  as  well  to  touch  upon  one 


io6  Zhc  1bou0e  3)ignificb 

other  weakness  of  the  day,  that  of  always  insisting 
upon  the  cost  of  things — ten  thousand  dollars  for  a 
bath-tub,  fifty  thousand  for  ^  chandeher,  as  though 
the  price  were  a  sort  of  guarantee  of  excellence.  Ex- 
cellence is  not  attained  by  extravagance.  It  depends 
upon  a  conscientious  study  of  the  subject,  the  ability 
to  recognise  special  requirements  and  to  fill  them,  the 
power  of  adapting  necessities  to  environments.  We 
are  foolish  to  suppose  and  to  insist  that  money  alone 
makes  possible  the  creation  of  the  beautiful  in  houses, 
or  the  following  of  any  special  school.  Money  really 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  subject,  although  those 
who  lack  the  purchasing  medium  (and  the  taste)  are 
apt  to  claim  that  it  does.  Too  great  an  ability  to  buy 
leads  as  often  to  the  over-indulgence  of  bad  taste,  as 
the  inability  to  do  so  cramps  the  purchaser,  confining 
him  to  substitutes.  In  making  our  judgments,  we 
ought  to  get  altogether  away  from  the  question  of 
cost.  The  only  legitimate  stand  possible  when  con- 
sidering the  power  of  money  to  direct  and  command 
in  any  art  is  this:  that  those  who  possess  a  sufficiency 
with  which  to  build  and  embellish  as  they  would, 
ought  to  be  governed  by  a  certain  sense  of  responsi- 
bility in  the  matter.  Study  should  be  given  to  the 
subject,  intelligence  exercised,  whimsical  tastes  sub- 
ordinated, and  a  right  appreciation  of  relative  values 
cultivated.  It  should  be  remembered,  too,  that  the 
expression  of  personality  is  one  thing,  the  exercise  of 
personal  prerogatives  quite  another.     The  great  and 


Bedrooms,  Batbrooms,  2)re90ing»'room6    i  o  7 

much-abused  women  of  France  gave  to  the  building 
and  adorning  of  palaces  and  gardens  a  conscientious 
and  intelligent  study.     Though  they  were  guillotined 
afterward  for  the  exercise  of  misunderstood  talents 
then  caUed  extravagant,  the  objects  for  the  creation 
of  which  they  suffered  a  national  odium  are  to-day 
proudly  pointed  to  as  among  the  greatest  of  pubhc 
properties.     These  properties,  moreover,  are  carefully 
protected  by  the  government,  which  is  glad  to  receive 
a  revenue  from  them.     History  has  its  own  revenges. 
Connected  with  most  of  our  important  bedrooms 
are  dressing-rooms  following  the  fashion  of  the  sleeping- 
apartment.     The  same  woods  are  shown,  the  same 
panelling,  the  same  detail  of  fireplace  or  window  and 
door  opening.     So  great  a  regard  for  closets  has  been 
displayed  that  it  is  sometimes  amusing  to  watch  the 
feminine  visitor  forgetting  real  beauties  to  exclaim 
over  those  practical  things  of  which  as  a  less  fortunate 
person  she  has  never  been  known  to  have  enough. 
In  these  dressing-rooms,  then,  there  are  hat  closets, 
sometimes  two.     A  panel  is  sprung  open,  and  from 
ceiling  to  floor  hang  hats  of  every  kind  and  description, 
suspended  from  pegs  of  special  design.     Another  panel 
opens,  and  shoes  and  slippers  are  revealed,  no  simple 
shoe-bag  sufficing  for  the  demands  of  the  day.     There 
must  be  a  series  of  shelves,  each  with  its  row  of  slippers 
and  shoes  filled  with  their  particular  trees— a  bewilder- 
ing array  of  foot-gear,  indeed,  for  afternoon,  evening, 
and  night,  for  ball  and  dinner  dresses,  for  theatres, 


io8  Zhc  lbou0c  Bignifieb 

opera,  and  tea,  for  sunshine  and  rain.  Still  other 
panels  open,  and  we  have  the  perfumes  and  powders, 
the  pastes  and  ointments,  the  medicines  and  extra 
brushes.  Behind  other  panels  are  the  sliding  drawers 
for  blouses,  laid  out  fiat,  for  underclothes,  and  then 
again  still  others  for  the  stockings,  since  each  pair  of 
shoes  or  slippers  must  be  multiplied  by  three,  or  four 
times  three,  in  hose.  Then  there  must  be  the  drawers 
for  gloves — drawers  and  drawers  for  these ;  and  almost 
as  many  for  the  handkerchiefs,  tied  up  in  dozens  with 
the  coloured  satin  ribbon  which  their  owner  affects. 
Then  there  must  also  be  the  closets  for  tea-gowns  and 
those  for  street  dresses,  closets  that  run  on  indefinitely 
till  the  dressing-room  is  outgrown — cedar  closets  for 
furs,  cedar  closets  for  shawls,  until  one  arrives  at  special 
rooms  of  ample  proportions,  provided  for  ball  gowns. 

There  are  closets,  too,  for  the  mistress's  own  bed 
linen,  never  to  be  confounded  with  that  belonging  to 
any  other  member  of  the  household.  For  there  are 
women  who  like  to  preserve  individual  fashions  in 
bed.  Sometimes  this  fashion  includes  a  question  of 
colour,  sometimes  one  of  a  textile — black  satin  sheets 
not  being  unheard  of.  Generally,  however,  it  is  seen 
in  an  extravagance  in  laces  and  embroideries,  the 
over-sheet,  pillow-cases,  and  night-gowns  being  made 
in  sets,  from  which  studied  composition  even  the 
necklace  is  not  omitted. 

Hand-spun  linens  are  insisted  upon,  and  real 
laces.     Everything,  too,  must  harmonise  to  minutest 


16c^room9,  Batbrooms,  Breeemg^rooms   109 

details,  bed-hangings  and  ribbons  never  being  allowed 
to  conflict  in  tone.  A  few  years  ago  we  laughed  at  the 
stories  repeated.  To-day  we  begin  to  see  a  reason  for 
not  neglecting  that  part  of  a  woman's  existence  which 
represents  a  third  of  her  appointed  time.  Besides, 
those  who  are  inclined  to  carp  need  only  to  be  reminded 
of  what  the  beautiful  Aurore  of  The  Grandissimes 
felt  it  ''her  duty"  to  proclaim  to  her  daughter:  "The 
meanest  wickedness  a  woman  can  do  in  all  this  bad, 
bad  world  is  to  look  ugly  in  bed. " 

And  the  beautiful  Aurore  was  right. 


Chapter  VIII 

Windows  and  Doors 

IXZINDOWS  are  both  a  public  and  a  private  prop- 
^  ^  erty.  Every  passer-by  has  a  right  to  them.  As 
part  of  the  fagade,  they  go  to  the  making  not  only  of 
an  architectural  impression,  but  to  the  very  quality  and 
character  of  a  communal  environment.  They  chal- 
lenge comment  from  lay  and  professional  minds  alike, 
and,  of  all  parts  of  a  house,  afford  to  writers  the  most 
prolific  source  of  similes.  Thus  one  finds  them  com- 
pared to  the  eye,  now  scowling  from  under  their  fierce 
eyebrows  of  vines,  now  timidly  peeping  from  under 
the  half -lifted  lid  of  a  cornice,  and  now  frankly  gleam- 
ing with  kindly  intent  and  promise.  Some,  indeed, 
go  even  farther,  declaring  that  the  very  soul  of  the 
inmate  is  visible  at  the  panes,  and  that  those  who 
look  can  catch  whatever  spirit  of  consideration  or 
acerbity  reigns  within. 

None  of  these  similes  are  as  far-fetched  as  they 
might  seem.  Among  the  myriads  of  windows  visible 
in  every  direction,  the  differences  of  expression  are 
as  manifold   as  those  presented  by  the  faces  on   a 


Minbows  anb  Doore 


III 


crowded  street.  A  cursory  glance  is  sufficient  to 
reveal  to  you  mental  attitudes  as  diametrically  op- 
posed as  the  poles  themselves.  You  can  recognise  this 
in  conventional  twin  houses  standing  side  by  side; 
and  always  in  apartments,  where  the  windows  of 
separate  floors,  though  exactly  alike  in  feature,  bear 
not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  each  other,  in  the 
way  of  individuality  or  character. 

Most  windows  seen  from  the  street  affront  you. 
They  are  like  the  slam  of  a  door  intended  to  shut  you 
out.  Attempts,  to  be  sure,  are  sometimes  made  to 
soften  the  manner,  as  when  costly  laces  are  displayed 
in  unbroken  stretches  against  the  panes,  an  accen- 
tuation of  material  resources  which,  though  accom- 
plishing a  given  purpose,  does  so  by  convincing  you 
that,  ample  as  is  the  command  of  ways  and  means, 
those  of  an  individual  equipment  are  as  proportionately 
small.  Now  and  then,  however,  even  on  our  city 
streets,  one  does  find  windows  that,  like  the  well-bred 
person,  have  other  means  of  self-protection  besides 
the  purely  aggressive; — delightful  windows,  some  of 
these,  keeping  you  at  respectful  distance,  yet  charming 
you  by  their  manner,  luring  you  sometimes  a  block  or 
two  out  of  your  way,  in  order  to  gain  another  glimpse 
of  them. 

Occasionally  the  architect  succeeds  in  endowing 
his  windows  with  charm.  He  never  does  it  when  he 
piles  on  ornament,  overfreights  his  cornice,  or  places 
his  openings  so  regularly  that  he  gives  to  a  house  the 


112 


JLhc  1bou6C  Mgniticb 


air  of  a  barrack.  As  a  human  face  in  its  infancy  is 
sometimes  compared  to  a  series  of  little  dots  standing 
for  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth,  variations  of  expression  being 
attained  by  the  mere  distribution  of  these  dots;  so, 
if  we  still  cling  to  the  simile  of  the  eye  for  the  window, 
it  will  be  seen  that  the  architect,  by  his  own  distribu- 
tion of  windows,  is  able  to  give  to  any  facade  expres- 
sions as  varied  as  those  attained  by  a  painter,  who,  by 
placing  the  eyes  wide  apart,  for  example,  suggests 
candour  and  frankness,  or  by  making  them  small  and 
too  near  together,  indicates  meanness  and  cunning. 

Quite  apart,  however,  from  an5rthing  which  the 
architect  has  been  able  to  accomplish,  even  by  so  well 
balanced  a  distribution  of  his  openings  that  his  fagade, 
like  a  finely  modelled  face,  unconsciously  compels  from 
every  passer-by  a  recognition  of  its  dignity  and  im- 
portance— quite  apart,  I  say,  from  all  this  lies  the 
work  of  the  dweller  within,  who  by  the  exercise  of 
her  own  prerogatives  may  spoil  his  work  when  good, 
or  dominate  it  when  bad,  as  when  a  cheerful  spirit 
looks  so  smilingly  out  from  ungainly  features  that  you 
are  made  to  forget,  or  even  to  love  them. 

It  is  in  her  choice  and  arrangement  of  her  draperies 
that  the  woman  distinguishes  herself,  differentiating 
herself  as  it  were  from  the  crowd,  and  proving  the 
possession  of  individual  gifts.  She  needs  to  exercise 
many  powers.  She  must  learn  to  look  at  two  sides 
of  her  subject,  to  study  her  windows,  for  example,  both 
from  within  and  without.     This  is  her  greatest  stum- 


TOinbows  ant)  Doors  113 

bling-block.  In  general,  if  she  gets  the  lights  softened 
to  a  becoming  tone  indoors,  the  rest  can  go  for  naught. 
She  rarely  considers  the  effect  from  the  pavement. 
If  she  did,  would  we  encounter  so  often  the  purely 
conventional  ugliness  of  so  many  windows?  be  jarred 
upon  so  frequently  by  the  staring  white  of  costly 
laces  looking  like  plasters  stuck  regularly  over  a 
brown  facade,  or  coming  in  too  close  juxtaposition 
with  the  grey  of  rough  stone?  For  these  are  the 
things  that  one  sees  in  many  of  the  so-called  palaces 
of  to-day,  and  which  go  to  prove  at  least  an  arid  fancy. 

Sometimes,  instead  of  these  fiat  stretches  of  lace, 
we  find  that  which  is  even  worse — curtains  that  from 
the  sidewalk  look  like  flounces  of  a  lady's  petticoat, 
an  ugly  fashion  copied  from  that  of  French  dress- 
makers, and  unthinkingly  applied  here  by  those  whose 
studies,  when  abroad,  have  been  confined  to  the  shops. 

In  large  towns  we  are  no  longer  guilty  of  the  painted 
shades,  but  we  are  far  too  prone  to  shades  of  every 
colour  ranging  from  bright  mustard  yellows  to  im- 
possible greens.  Nothing  is  so  ugly  from  the  street, 
presenting  as  they  do  fiat  surfaces  of  discordant  tones. 
If  they  were  used  only  at  night,  there  would  be  no 
cause  to  complain,  but  almost  everywhere  one  sees 
them  half  drawn  in  the  daytime. 

From  the  inside  of  the  house,  one  is  apt,  again,  to 
leave  out  of  consideration  the  problem  of  one's  special 
outlook,  an  ugly  or  a  pleasant  view,  a  colour  that 
clashes,  as  from  a  brick  wall,  across  the  way,  or  a 


114  ^be  Ibouee  Bignifiet) 

colour  that  softens,  as  from  a  tree.  In  many  houses 
where  the  windows  of  an  L  come  up  against  a  neigh- 
bour's rear  apartments,  the  transparent  curtain,  though 
sufficient  to  protect  those  within  a  room,  will  do  nothing 
on  the  other  hand,  to  shut  out  the  unpleasantness 
beyond.  I  know  of  one  instance  where  a  lovely  dining- 
room  has  been  quite  spoiled  by  a  window  drapery  so 
thin  that  the  opposite  fire-escape,  with  its  inevitable 
litter  of  prohibited  things,  is  made  to  seem  part  of  the 
interior,  so  intimately  is  every  detail  brought  to  those 
about  the  table.  In  this  case  plate  glass  has  been 
used,  perhaps  for  the  sake  of  more  light,  although 
the  panes  of  the  china  closets,  with  which  the  window 
is  balanced,  are  small.  This  plate  glass  not  only  de- 
stroys the  harmony  of  the  room,  but  over-accentuates 
the  presence  of  objectionable  kitchen  paraphernalia. 
The  same  fault  is  encountered  in  many  houses,  a  fault 
that  might  be  so  readily  overcome  by  the  use  of  a 
leaded  or  a  smaller  pane,  or  by  the  choice  of  a  textile. 
For  the  windows  against  which  these  objections  lie 
are  not  those  of  ready-made  houses,  where  all  a  woman's 
ingenuity  must  be  exercised  in  order  to  conceal  the 
palpable  shortcomings,  but  of  houses  of  wealth  and 
importance,  where  nothing  stands  in  the  way  of  per- 
fection except  the  inability  of  the  woman  to  solve 
the  problems  of  her  own  environment. 

It  is  easier,-  of  course,  to  criticise  than  to  create, 
and  doubtless  there  are  many  of  us  who  now  exclaim, 
who  would,  were  the  problem  ours,  make  as  many 


Minbowe  an^  Doors  115 

mistakes  and  be  as  bewildered  by  a  question  of  choice. 
For  the  market  is  more  or  less  limited,  and  but  few- 
traditions  have  moulded  the  national  taste — none 
in  fact,  for  our  more  sumptuous  modem  departures. 
Out  of  pure  discouragement  women  are  willing  to 
accept  conditions  as  they  are,  the  bother  of  accom- 
plishing anything  is  so  great,  the  difficulties  to  be 
overcome  so  manifold.  For  all  that,  there  seems  to 
be  nothing  to  excuse  the  almost  universal  negligence 
displayed,  the  shirking  of  responsibilities  entailed 
by  given  and  new  conditions,  the  disregard  of  beauty 
in  favour  of  utility,  and  the  absolute  inappreciation 
for  the  general  aspect  of  things.  Another  point,  too, 
suggests  itself.  As  most  of  these  superb  newer  houses 
are  adaptations  of  foreign  models,  the  question  of 
window  treatment  ought  to  be  as  carefully  considered 
in  relation  to  the  epoch  followed,  as  any  detail  of 
fireplace  or  panelling.  Exactly  where  the  tradition 
for  the  display  of  costly  laces  comes  in,  it  would  be 
interesting  to  know.  Where  no  tradition  exists,  as 
when  brown  stone  has  been  retained  in  houses  whose 
interiors  have  been  remodelled  and  made  to  follow 
a  foreign  fashion,  then  some  treatment  should  be 
agreed  upon  which,  while  preserving  the  harmonies 
indoors,  would  do  so  without  over-accentuating,  on 
the  other  side,  the  modem  and  often  the  vulgar  note. 
The  most  successful  treatment  of  windows,  as  seen 
from  the  street,  is  that  in  which  neither  the  colour  nor 
design  of  the  thin  draperies  is  made  to  present  too 


ii6  ^be  Ibouse  Bignifieb 

strong  a  contrast  to  the  tone  of  the  house.  Nothing, 
therefore,  serves  the  purpose  better  than  a  fine  hand- 
made Brussels  net,  shghtly  fulled,  its  edges  finished 
with  a  fiat  and  narrow  lace.  If  the  net  be  coarse,  the 
whole  effect  is  destroyed,  the  coarse  meshes  serving 
as  reflecting  surfaces.  When  thin,  the  net  serves  its 
one  legitimate  purpose — that  of  protection,  but  it  does 
so  in  a  kindly  tempered  way,  giving  you  the  merest 
suggestion  of  the  coloured  draperies  within.  Being 
fine,  it  does  not  obtrude  itself;  it  is  like  a  woman's  veil 
in  that.  Being  slightly  tinted,  too,  just  off  the  white, 
it  never  becomes  a  conspicuous  feature  of  any  facade. 
In  ready-made  houses  the  many-times-enforced 
application  of  stuffs  to  conceal  the  obtrusively  ugly 
indoors,  has  led  to  a  deplorable  overcrowding  of  rooms 
with  all  sorts  of  irrelevant  hangings.  The  worst  of 
these  are  of  wool,  catching  dust  like  a  carpet,  and 
perennially  robbing  a  room  of  that  which  should  be  its 
great  desideratum — a  suggestion  at  least  of  the  puri- 
fying effects  of  sunshine  and  air.  In  houses  of  any 
architectural  importance  where  the  window  and  door 
openings  are  decorative  features  in  themselves,  the 
concealment  of  them  by  a  hanging  takes  on  the  nature 
of  a  crime.  Rods  cannot  be  indiscriminately  applied 
and  curtains  hung  at  the  will  of  the  mistress,  who  has 
perhaps  some  fine  textile  to  display,  or  who  feels  the 
need  of  a  splash  of  warm  colour.  One  must  respect 
the  work  of  the  architect,  who,  in  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  an  epoch,  may  have  adopted  the  pediment  of  one 


TOinbow0  anb  Boors  117 

school,  or  the  semi-circular  arch  of  another.  In  his 
distribution  of^these  various  openings  his  art  has  been 
expended,  not  only  giving  to  a  room  its  special  character, 
but  enforcing  upon  it  its  own  special  requirements. 
No  one  therefore  could  hang  a  thick  curtain  from  a 
straight  rod  put  up  over  a  pointed  Adam  arch.  Nor 
should  one  dream  of  concealing  the  beautiful  panelling 
and  well -studied  trim  of  a  French  window  by  dra- 
peries carelessly  applied. 

To  a  study  of  these  questions,  the  intelligent, 
beauty-loving  householder  devotes  infinite  time.  She 
consults  old  prints,  or  travels  miles  to  see  a  noteworthy 
example.  She  has  drawings  made.  Now  and  then 
she  has  miniature  models  of  the  openings  constructed 
in  pasteboard  or  wood;  to  these,  hangings  are  ad- 
justed, every  detail  of  curtain-fold,  of  tassel  and  cord, 
being  carefully  considered.  These  she  modifies  and 
improves,  knowing  well  that  any  overtime  expended 
on  the  subject  now,  will  be  amply  repaid  by  her  future 
peace  of  mind.  She  never  regrets  the  hours  ex- 
pended or  the  patience  exercised.  Therefore  she 
never  assails  you  with  regrets.  If  any  trouble  pre- 
vails, she  herself  knows  what  it  is,  and  that  her  failures 
have  resulted  from  no  lack  of  a  careful  consideration, 
but  from  the  inability  of  the  labour-market  to  supply 
her.  And  as  she  ensures  her  own  peace  of  mind, 
so  she  ensures  that  of  her  visitors.  We  ought  all  to 
be  grateful  to  her,  for  an  inch  too  high  or  too  low  in 
a  loop,  the  over- weight  of  a  tassel  or  the  undue  elabora- 


ii8  Zbc  Ibouse  Bignitteb 

tion  of  a  lambrequin  may  destroy  the  whole  scheme. 
Questions  of  colour  and  textile  are  of  supreme 
importance,  and  must  include  not  only  a  consideration 
of  that  which  is  harmonious  to  the  eye,  but  of  that 
which  is  proper  to  the  epoch.  Reference  has  already 
been  made  to  the  pains  taken  by  some  in  securing 
right  tones,  for  no  possessor  of  exact  knowledge  is 
content  with  those  supplied  in  general  manufacture. 
Special  orders  have  been  given  to  celebrated  looms 
— not  sweeping,  ill-considered  orders,  but  orders  for 
samples,  and  even  for  the  threads  themselves.  And 
these  threads  and  odd  bits  of  silk,  as  I  know,  have  been 
lived  with  for  weeks,  new  dyes  being  ordered  when  a 
result  proved  unsatisfactory,  and  new  combinations 
of  other  threads,  until  years  have  been  consumed  in 
the  production  of  one  tone.  We  read  of  such  things 
in  the  lives  of  ancients  perfecting  a  glaze,  and  are 
generous  in  the  award  of  our  approbation.  But  in 
the  rush  of  modem  days,  the  unthinking  are  unmind- 
ful, and  even  when  they  stop  for  an  instant  to  admire, 
fail  either  to  appreciate  or  commend.  Yet  these  are 
the  pains  by  which  perfection  is  accomplished,  and 
which  go  to  make  results  accepted  by  future  genera- 
tions as  standards.  They  are  not  wasted  pains,  since 
a  beautiful  house  is  something  more  than  an  individual 
possession.  It  is  a  contribution  to  many  lives,  and 
should  be  that  which  is  embodied  in  the  spirit  of 
the  Merzuzah,  nailed  by  Hebrews  to  the  door-posts  of 
their  houses — a  place  in  which  those  who  enter  may 


find  blessings,  and  from  which  those  who  depart  may 
carry  content. 

In  general,  the  thick  curtains  which  our  climate 
compels  us  to  adopt,  are  made  either  to  contrast  in 
colour  with  the  walls,  or  to  carry  out  their  general 
tone.  Thus  the  same  material  is  used  both  as  wall 
covering  and  curtain,  often  being  repeated  in  the 
furniture  covering,  since  too  great  a  variety  robs  any 
interior  of  repose.  There  are  those,  of  course,  who 
will  always  insist  on  using  what  they  have,  or  who 
count  nothing  more  important  than  the  display  of 
certain  long-hoarded  treasures — those  snares  that  en- 
tangle so  hopelessly  the  imwary  foot.  Yet  a  curtain, 
no  matter  how  beautiful  it  may  be  in  itself,  is  neces- 
sarily bad  when  it  becomes  an  obtrusive  feature.  When 
the  need  of  some  warmer  note  is  felt,  the  carpet  may 
supply  it,  a  chair,  a  sofa,  or  a  cushion.  Better  than 
all  else,  are  an  open  fire  and  flowers.  The  value  of 
flowers  in  keying  up  a  room  is  too  often  forgotten,  yet 
flowers  are  essential  in  some  interiors,  especially  in 
those  of  great  elegance,  which  might  otherwise  seem 
cold.  They  lend  to  any  room  a  human  and  a  habitable 
look. 

There  need  be  no  monotony  in  a  room  where  wall- 
covering and  curtains  are  ahke.  In  one  eighteenth- 
century  house,  where  the  door  and  window  openings 
are  of  white  marble,  a  charming,  low-toned,  green 
silk  brocade  is  used  everywhere.  Relief  is  obtained 
by  the  dark  mahogany  of  the  tables  and  cabinets, 


I20  ^be  1bou0e  Bigntfieb 

the  introduction  of  flowers  and  plants,  the  dominating 
effect  of  interesting  portraits,  the  dull  gold  of  the 
frames  being  repeated  in  an  elaborately  designed 
Adam  mirror  above  the  mantel. 

When  the  walls  are  panelled,  the  problem  of  the 
hangings  is  a  different  one.  If  the  room  adheres 
strictly  to  a  period,  the  colour  and  quality  of  the 
curtain  must  represent  the  epoch.  Many  rooms, 
however,  are  only  adaptations,  in  which  cas'e  a  greater 
latitude  is  allowed.  In  one  library,  for  instance, 
panelled  in  dark  French  oak,  though  the  arch  of  the 
window  openings  and  the  treatment  of  the  mouldings 
follow  Louis  Sixteenth  traditions,  red  rep  is  used  in 
the  curtains  and  on  the  furniture.  This  is  bordered 
by  a  light  band  showing  an  Etruscan  design.  The  li- 
brary being  small,  the  effect  is  agreeable.  In  one  of 
larger  size,  the  repetition  of  the  Etruscan  figure  would 
be  monotonous  and  therefore  wearisome. 

From  no  house  counted  as  beautiful  are  doors 
banished,  their  places  being  taken  by  curtains.  The 
very  statement  of  so  trite  a  truth  might  seem  absurd, 
if  one  did  not  remember  the  craze  once  existing  among 
us  for  getting  rid  of  our  doors.  It  is  no  longer  ago 
than  twenty  years,  that  one  saw  on  every  side  of  us 
new  houses  being  built,  in  which  whole  sides  of  a  room 
were  eliminated  in  order  that  hangings  might  be 
substituted.  I  recall  one — ^and  in  New  York,  too — 
where  all  that  divided  the  stairs  from  the  living-room 
with  its  fireplace  and  valuable  pictures,  was  a  stretch 


Mint)ow0  anb  Doors 


121 


of  green  velours.  Doors,  in  fact,  were  considered  an 
encumbrance,  and  the  need  of  privacy  a  sort  of  guilty 
assumption — as  if  there  were  aught  to  conceal!  This 
mental  attitude  may  possibly  have  been  engendered 
by  the  fact  that  our  doors  were  ugly  in  themselves, 
that  they  were  inappropriately  placed  and  opened 
inconveniently,  being  a  nuisance,  in  fact,  and  taking 
up  too  much  space.  Moreover,  except  for  those  in 
mahogany,  we  possessed  no  beautiful  doors;  and  even 
with  these,  scant  attention  was  paid  to  their  proper 
placing,  the  desire  to  display  at  all  cost  a  rare  possession 
being  always  uppermost  in  the  householder's  mind. 

All  this  is  now  changed.  To  the  position  of  our 
doors,  with  regard  to  the  axes  of  the  room,  and  to  the 
detailing  of  them,  our  architects  pay  great  attention. 
They  are  made  to  balance  properly  with  the  window 
openings.  The  best  types  of  Europe  are  studied. 
The  over-door  is  given,  sometimes  as  a  frieze,  and  now 
as  a  frame  enclosing  a  picture.  We  have,  too,  the 
rounded  or  the  pointed  arch  in  marble  or  in  wood. 
The  meanings,  too,  of  the  entrances  are  carefully 
preserved,  dignity  being  given  when  that  is  required, 
a  sense  of  well-secured  privacy  when  that  is  the  de- 
sideratum. One  other  point  is  always  respected, 
that  of  transitions,  the  feeling  of  too  abrupt  a  passage 
from  one  apartment  to  another,  differing  from  it  in 
character,  not  being  possible  in  the  well-designed  house. 

Then  the  doors  themselves!  What  departures  we 
have  made  in  these  twenty  years!    One  need  not,  of 


122 


^be  Ibouse  2)iGnit[e^ 


course,  expect  to  find,  unless  imported  from  foreign 
palaces,  any  that  are  as  beautiful  as  those  seen,  for 
example,  at  Versailles,  where  the  tones  of  old  paint 
and  gilding,  with  the  loveliness  of  design,  make  crea- 
tions so  enchanting  that  one  involuntarily  takes  a 
seat  before  them,  letting  one's  whole  nature  be  played 
upon.  For  there  we  find  grace  of  line,  flight  of  fancy, 
the  sustained  note  of  a  central  idea  with  variations 
played  upon  it.  Among  our  imported  doors,  however, 
we  have  many  of  great  beauty.  There  are  those  to 
which  reference  has  already  been  made  in  the  chapter 
on  bedrooms,  their  oblong  panels  carved  with  flowers. 
There  are  those,  too,  of  French  salons,  genuine  doors, 
the  mouldings  of  the  panels  gilded  and  following  the 
design  of  the  panelled  walls.  Then  there  are  doors 
opening  out  of  old  oak  halls,  and  into  libraries — richly 
carved,  heavy,  massive  doors,  centuries  old,  the  figures 
of  the  cherubs  carved  on  them  being  life-size. 

We  have,  too,  the  inlaid  or  painted  doors  of  other 
schools — Spanish  and  Italian  doors,  old  English  and 
Dutch  doors;  doors  from  everywhere,  in  fact,  lending 
a  distinction  to  our  houses  of  to-day,  that  were  never 
found  here  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  Not  the  least 
interesting  part  of  them  is  seen  in  the  locks,  handles, 
and  keys,  hooks  and  hinges,  subjects  to  which  we 
have  hitherto  paid  but  little  attention.  The  interest 
of  some  of  these  is  very  great,  the  work  representing 
an  art  in  itself,  the  chiselling  on  those  of  old  French 
doors  being  especially  lovely,  the  very  form  and  pro- 


1KIli^^ow0  ant)  Boore  123 

portion  of  the  general  design  bearing  a  well-considered 
relation  to  the  whole.  Wrought  iron  is  used  on  doors 
of  an  earlier  date,  and  possesses  an  equal  interest, 
especially  when  some  rare  and  well-executed  design 
is  found. 

This  same  respect,  for  detail,  by  the  way,  is  shown 
in  the  window  fasteners,  strict  adherence  to  the  epoch 
being  observed.  The  casual  visitor  may  overlook 
these  finer  observances,  though  they  well  repay  careful 
study. 

In  country  houses,  where  less  of  a  necessity  exists 
for  protecting  one's  self  from  a  neighbour  across  the 
way,  that  which  may  sometimes  be  pardoned  in  town 
becomes  absolutely  unforgivable.  No  possible  justifi- 
cation can  be  urged  for  overcrowding  a  window.  The 
quality  of  the  hangings  may  be  as  rich,  the  exigencies 
of  social  life  even  among  the  trees  being  what  they 
are  in  these  modem  days,  but  the  obtrusive  is  as  vulgar. 
Although  brocades,  tapestries,  velvets,  and  silks  are  all 
found,  they  belong  only  to  houses  whose  importance 
serves  as  their  justification.  The  very  moment  their 
use  creates  a  stuffy  impression,  the  houses  in  which 
they  appear  are  put  beyond  the  pale.  It  is  a  common, 
not  an  uncommon  fault,  however,  to  find  draperies 
so  employed,  the  fault  being  those  of  people  who  never 
can  escape  the  alluring  temptation  of  using  things 
which  they  happen  to  have. 

That  which  one  wants  in  the  country  is  a  window 
and  the  air  that  the  window  is  supposed  to  admit. 


124  Ilbe  Ibouee  Bignifieb 

Draperies  therefore  should  be  subordinated,  used  with 
discretion  and  so  employed  as  to  be  forgotten.  One 
should  always  bear  in  mind  that  there  are  things  to 
be  looked  at  in  the  country  besides  those  adorning 
the  walls,  and  that  in  order  to  see  what  nature  has 
provided  one  must  look  past  a  curtain.  This  makes 
the  over-accentuation  of  a  colour  or  a  textile  with 
figures  something  more  than  a  mere  error  of  judgment, 
smacking  as  it  does  of  an  inherent  defect  of  vision. 
Because  of  the  out-of-doors  which  needs  to  be  felt  in 
the  country,  a  curtain  should  be  so  made  as  to  be  well 
drawn  back  in  the  daytime — never  like  curtains 
in  town,  which  have  a  certain  excuse  for  staying  fixed, 
since  city  windows  are  only  opened  at  set  intervals. 

The  temptation  to  urge  a  plea  is  hardly  to  be  re- 
sisted in  closing  this  chapter — several  pleas,  in  fact. 
One  is  that  plate  glass  should  not  be  so  extensively 
used.  It  is  delightful  for  shops,  but  not  lovely  for  all 
other  windows.  It  rarely  adds  to  the  interior  charm 
of  a  city  house,  since  the  necessity  of  covering  it  is 
instantly  felt.  The  moment  that  this  is  done,  we  get 
the  assorted  plaster  and  patch  effect  of  the  thin  dra- 
peries. Then,  too,  how  much  lovelier  are  the  small 
or  leaded  panes!  With  these,  if  necessary,  further  pro- 
tection from  the  street  can  be  secured  by  the  thinnest 
of  gauze  draperies,  which  add  not  only  a  humanising 
touch,  but  are  often  most  delightful  in  the  way  of 
colour  faintly  suggested  through  the  pane. 

Then  there  are  the  outside  blinds!     Why  should 


Minbows  an^  Doors  125 

these  be  so  frequently  discarded  in  environments 
where  they  might  be  permitted?  A  dark  green  bUnd 
closed  on  a  hot  summer  day,  makes  a  delightftd  in- 
terior, in  which  every  comfort  and  relaxation  is  pro- 
mised within,  and  no  affront  is  given  without.  Awnings 
are,  of  course,  a  good  and  only  possible  substitute  in 
many  instances,  but  here  again  it  is  unfortunately  not 
infrequent  to  see  colours  clashing  with  the  walls,  and 
which,  as  when  reds  are  chosen,  inspire  only  a  sense 
of  added  heat  and  discomfort  to  every  one. 

Although  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  we 
have  been  paying  more  and  more  attention  to  the 
question  of  window  boxes  for  summer  and  winter, 
we  have  not  yet  acquired  the  art  of  their  arrangement, 
as  one  finds  it  expressed,  for  example,  in  London. 
There,  not  only  the  blending  of  tones,  as  with  pink 
geraniums  and  grey  stone,  is  carefully  considered, 
but  the  question  of  form  is  not  ignored.  We  incline 
too  much  to  the  straight  line,  being  content  with 
unbroken  rows  of  plants  arranged  by  the  florist,  when 
the  introduction  of  an  upright  or  two  in  the  way  of  a 
plant  perennially  green  might  transform  the  whole 
arrangement. 

Neither  have  we  yet  acquired  the  altruistic  spirit 
of  that  Boston  woman,  who  left  her  flowers  blooming 
in  her  window  boxes  during  her  absence  from  town, 
in  order  that  those  who  were  left  to  walk  the  blistering 
streets,  might  have  something  pretty  and  green  to 
regale  them. 


126  Jlhe  Ibouae  Bignifiet) 

This  same  consideration,  I  must  urge  again,  ought 
always  to  be  shown  the  passer-by,  and  if  I  may  be 
permitted  again  to  return  to  the  similes  quoted  above, 
I  should  say  that  quite  as  great  as  is  the  importance 
of  having  a  pleasant  expression  of  face  in  public,  is 
that  of  having  one  in  our  windows.    For — 

This  is  the  window's  message  in  honour  to  its  queen, 
Thine  is  a  double  kingdom,  and  she  is  set  between. 


Chapter  IX 

Fireplaces 

THOUGH  the  fact  may  not  be  generally  admitted,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  as  a  people  we  are  sadly 
deficient  in  the  art  of  the  fireplace.  Even  when  good 
examples  have  been  secured  from  abroad,  the  most 
distressing  taste  has  often  been  displayed  in  their 
treatment.  Not  far  from  town  I  came  across  a  beau- 
tiful chimneypiece  of  Caen  stone  in  a  room  designed 
and  furnished  altogether  after  seventeenth  century 
models,  where  the  shelf  was  set  out  with  two  modem 
miniature  electric  lamps  at  either  end,  and  nothing 

else! 

On  another  occasion  I  saw,  in  the  drawing-room 
of  a  collector  who  prided  himself  on  his  taste,  a  won- 
derful Gothic  chimneypiece  insulted  by  a  row  of 
plaster-cast  singing-boys,  placed  round  the  edges  of 
the  carved  hood.  There  were  seven  of  these  little 
horrors,  three  on  either  side,  and  one  perched  on  the 
summit. 

Although  these  particular  instances  may  be  set 
down  as  individual,   not  national  sins,   our  country 

137 


128  Zhc  t>omc  Digniticb 

is  full  of  others  quite  as  bad.  That  which  makes  most 
of  them  unforgivable  is  the  fact  that  they  have  been 
committed  not  in  ignorance,  but  in  pride — that  same 
pride  and  craving  for  false  appearances  which  cause 
the  poor  deluded  woman,  with  no  clean  petticoats  to 
her  name,  to  spend  all  her  week's  wages  on  some 
feathered  hat,  to  which  the  illustrated  newspaper 
has  given  a  catching  title.  No  sincere  desire  to  ex- 
press the  a'ctual,  or  to  attain  to  the  needful,  has 
marked  the  struggle  of  our  people  toward  the  perfect 
fireplace. 

All  that  has  been  done  in  the  way  of  excellence 
has  been  done  by  a  few,  honestly  striving  for  that  per- 
fection which,  built  up  on  the  verities,  stands  first 
for  the  true  and  is  then  elaborated  into  the  beautiful. 
Our  main  purpose  seems  to  have  been  to  produce 
what  we  liked  to  boast  of  as  "artistic,"  or  that  which 
somebody  else  has  quoted  as  the  most  approved  of 
fashions.  This  has  led  us  to  borrowing  terms,  and 
titles — without  really  knowing  what  any  of  them 
meant.  Names,  like  "over-mantel,"  have  deluded 
us,  and  these  names  once  assured  us  as  proper,  we  have 
been  satisfied  to  dwell  with  certain  monstrosities 
created  by  the  carpenter,  which  among  other  incon- 
gruities were  made  to  include  a  varied  assortment  of 
receptacles  for  knick-knacks  and  cheap  mirrors  re- 
flecting nothing. 

In  the  use  of  materials,  too,  we  have  been  strangely 
restless,  feverishly  adopting  and  discarding  one  after 


Jlreplaces  129 

another,  without  stopping  to  reason  out  the  question 
for  ourselves.  First,  we  would  no  longer  have  wood. 
So  we  threw  over  the  simple  old  mantels  of  our  fore- 
fathers and  indulged  ourselves  in  all  the  ugHness  of 
custom-made  marbles.  Our  houses  once  filled  with 
these,  we  reacted  again  and  went  back  to  wood,  fram- 
ing our  hearths  with  grotesque  and  hideous  shapes, 
products  of  disordered  minds. 

Then  there  was  the  gas  log,  which  with  its  first 
discovery  threw  us  quite  off  our  balance;  while  the 
nimierous  ramifications  of  the  steam-heater  have  been 
leading  us  ever  since  into  countless  subterfuges  and 
insincerities.  We  were  bewitched,  as  we  always  are, 
by  the  idea  of  a  labour-saving  device,  and,  thinking 
with  steam  to  have  discovered  a  way  to  avoid  the 
extra  work  entailed  by  the  ashes  of  an  open  fire,  for 
a  time  we  went  over,  body  and  soul,  to  the  radiator, 
though  we  lacked  courage  sufBcient  to  do  away  alto- 
gether with  the  signs  and  tokens  of  better  things.  The 
semblances  we  would  have.  Even  within  the  last 
thirty  years,  houses  counted  as  sumptuous  in  their 
day  have  been  built,  here  in  New  York,  in  which  par- 
lours have  been  furnished  with  marble  mantelpieces, 
no  detail  of  the  fireplace  neglected,  neither  tongs, 
shovel,  nor  fender,  except  that  there  was  never  a 
chimney  through  which  the  smoke  might  escape! 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  whole  question  is  one 
involving  infinite  confusion,  since  we  have  never  been 
absolutely  honest  in  a  single  one  of  our  departures. 


I30  ^be  Ibouee  BiGnifieD 

Had  we  been,  had  we  said  frankly,  "No! — I  won't 
have  an  open  fire  because  of  the  dust,  and  I  won't  He 
about  it  either:  I  won't  have  chimneypieces  that 
mean  nothing,  hearths  that  stand  for  deception,  walls 
disfigured  by  pretences, " — had  we  had  the  courage  to 
say  all  this,  think  of  how  interesting  our  architectural 
development  might  have  been!  What  originality  in 
interior  decoration  might  have  been  fostered!  A  new 
national  school,  perhaps,  in  which  rooms  without  fire- 
places might  have  been  designed  after  new  models, 
giving  us  structures  which  at  least  would  have  stood 
for  truth. 

Since,  then,  as  a  people,  we  have  never  quite  known 
what  we  have  wanted  most,  there  has  necessarily  been 
no  impetus  to  produce  it,  no  effort  made  either  to 
perfect  the  useful  or  to  develop  the  appropriate.  All 
progress  is  fostered  in  two  ways.  There  may  be  an 
ideal  springing  full-bom,  like  Minerva  from  the  head 
of  Jove,  which  given  to  a  generation  becomes  the  ideal 
by  which  that  generation  grows.  Or  a  need  may  exist 
in  many  minds,  its  final  satisfaction  being  the  out- 
growth of  universal  demands,  supplied  now  simul- 
taneously in  diverse  directions  (as  flying -machines 
have  been  perfected,  for  instance),  and  again  by  the 
brain  of  one  man  embodying  and  collecting  in  himself 
the  hitherto  disintegrated  powers  of  his  day,  as  Edison 
has  done.  But  the  want  must  come  first,  and  we  as 
a  people  have  never  known  which  we  wanted  most — 
fireplaces  or  steam-heaters! 


3fireplace0  131 

Had  we  known,  would  we  have  been  so  willing  to 
perpetuate  frauds,  so  complacent  about  surrounding 
ourselves  with  tokens  of  things  long,  long  since  emptied 
of  their  meaning?  Would  we  have  been  so  dishonest 
in  construction,  so  false  to  every  sentiment?  Or  would 
we  have  been  guilty  of  so  many  other  sins — tolerated 
placing  our  hearths  where  no  grouping  about  them 
was  possible?  defaced  our  chimneypieces  with  so 
many  hideous  and  useless  objects,  accustoming  and 
educating  the  eye  in  the  ugly  and  untrue? 

The  genuine  fire-lover  never  has  abandoned,  and 
never  will  abandon,  his  blaze.  He  alone  understands 
its  companionship,  its  vivifying  influence,  its  sentiment. 
He  can  tell  you  what  the  fire  says,  what  it  answers, 
what  it  inspires.  Cherishing  it  as  he  does,  wilHng 
as  he  is  to  sacrifice  to  its  maintenance,  has  he  not  a 
right  to  complain  of  those  who,  not  sharing  his  beliefs, 
have  stolen,  and  then  so  wantonly  abused,  his  best- 
beloved  symbols? 

No  one  chimneypiece  can  be  referred  to  offhand 
as  being  more  beautiful  than  another,  nor  can  any  one 
period  be  regarded  as  standing  for  the  one  and  only 
type  of  excellence.  Whenever  a  given  room  is  made 
to  follow  a  particular  period,  however,  the  form  and 
treatment  of  the  chimney  must  necessarily  be  that 
which  the  period  demands,  the  same  rules  being  fol- 
lowed as  those  which  have  governed  in  the  rest  of 
the  room.  Every  age  has  had  its  manner  of  building 
and  developing,  beginning  with  the  time  when  the 


132  ^be  1bou0e  2)iGmfie^ 

fireplace  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  the  smoke 
escaped  through  a  hole  in  the  roof.  The  French  have 
gone  through  one  evolutionary  process,  the  Italians 
another,  the  English  still  a  third.  Fireplaces  have 
projected  into  the  room  or  been  sunk  into  the  wall. 
They  have  been  protected  by  huge  carved  hoods, 
or  been  decorated  above  the  opening  by  moulding 
applied  to  a  flat  wall  surface.  But  in  each  and  every 
case  the  architect  has  by  his  choice  of  form  and  decora- 
tion suggested,  when  he  has  not  actually  carried  out 
his  construction,  that  the  cornice,  not  the  mantel-shelf, 
should  mark  the  point  toward  which  his  scheme  was 
tending.  His  space  above  the  opening  was  always 
treated  with  appropriate  dignity,  made  either  (as 
its  chief  point  of  interest)  to  dominate  the  room,  or  so 
treated  as  to  be  brought  into  harmony  with  its  sur- 
rounding walls  and  window  openings.  He  never  left 
it  to  be  tortured  into  line  by  inexperienced  carpenters 
or  ambitious  amateurs.  This  makes  it  something 
more  than  absurd  for  us  who  import  ancient  chimney- 
pieces  to  place  them  in  environments  not  adapted  to 
them,  as  when  a  Renaissance  fireplace  is  set  up  in  a 
modem  hall;  or  to  defame  them  with  inappropriate 
objects. 

If  the  possessor  of  imported  fireplaces,  therefore, 
does  not  know  where  a  given  example  should  be  placed 
or  how  it  should  be  treated,  an  obligation  to  study 
into  the  question  becomes  imperative.  He  has  no 
right  to  solace  himself  with  studies  of  shop-made  copies 


fireplaces  ^33 

or  bad  uses  of  things  in  the  houses  of  his  friends,  nor 
yet  to  take  evidence  on  hearsay.     When  the  oppor- 
tunity for  extensive  travel  is  not  his,  there  are  always 
at  least  old  prints  at  his  command.     For,  although 
there  is  no  law  compelling  any  one  to  the  adoption 
of  special  periods  in  houses,  a  period  once  adopted 
by  the  choice  of  distinctive  objects  makes  a  study 
of   those   special   periods   obhgatory.     Every   consci- 
entious possessor  of  beautiful  examples  understands 
this.     So,  too,  does  the  earnest  seeker  after  the  best 
manner  of  expressing  the  needful  and  appropriate. 
I  talked  with  such  a  woman  the  other  day.     She 
has  Hved   for   years   abroad.     The   question   of  such 
simple  appointments  as  curtain  rods  happened  to  be 
broached,  and  the  mistakes  made  in  these  days  by 
their  over-accentuation,  mistakes  that  resulted  from 
our  revolt  against  the  stiff  and  awkward  lambrequin 
of  some  sixty  years  ago.     This  led  her  to  tell  me  that 
for  some  time  she  had  been  delving  into  libraries  and 
the    portfolios    of    collectors    anywhere    available    in 
order  to  equip  herself.     I  asked  her  about  fireplaces 
and  discovered  that  she  had  studied  as  thoroughly  into 
that  subject,  too.     She  could  refer  to  various  examples 
of    beautiful    iron    fire-backs,    with    their    groups    of 
sculptured  figures,  found  scattered  throughout  Europe 
and  knew,  of  course,  every  requirement  of  tong  and 
shovel  of  whatever  school.     We  disagreed  somewhat 
about  brass,    she   thinking   it   a   useless   expenditure 
of  domestic  strength  to  have  anything  about  the  fire 


134  ^be  1bou0e  Bignifiet) 

that  required  so  constant  a  polishing.  I  succeeded, 
however,  in  nearly  converting  her  to  my  views.  For, 
certainly,  if  we  are  so  insistent  on  using  only  things 
which  require  no  labour  to  care  for,  why,  I  asked  her, 
should  we  not  for  the  same  reason  oxidise  our  table 
silver,  since  our  climate  necessitates  its  periodic 
polishing.  Then,  too,  as  I  urged,  the  beauty  of  shining 
brass  repays  every  moment  that  is  spent  upon  it,  es- 
pecially when  it  is  old  and  a  little  dented.  I  know 
that  nothing,  not  even  the  grace  of  beautiful  ormolu, 
or  the  dignity  of  wrought  iron,  would  tempt  me  to 
give  up  my  brass  andirons  with  their  flickers  of  light, 
their  power  to  hold  and  give  back  to  me,  like  a  jewel 
I  cherish,  flames  caught  out  of  the  very  heart  of  the 
blaze  as  it  sings  on  my  hearth.  Moreover,  I  believe 
that,  were  the  power  mine  to  build  as  I  chose,  I  would 
never  commit  myself  to  a  period  in  which  brass  about 
my  special  fireplace  could  have  no  part,  so  dearly  do 
I  love  the  colour,  so  full  of  meaning  is  all  that  the 
brass  reflects.  To  the  last  ember  dying  among  the 
ashes,  the  knobs  of  my  andirons  are  as  true  as  Alpine 
peaks  to  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

To  make  a  fireplace  interesting  it  is  not  necessary 
to  have  imported  pieces,  though  the  possession  of 
wealth  seems  to  imply  a  desire  to  imitate  the  foreign. 
It  is  perfectly  possible  to  give  dignity  at  least  to  the 
plainest  chimneypiece  by  a  simple  arrangement  of 
mirror  or  pictures  (not  both)  with  candlesticks,  a 
bronze,  or  even  a  plaster  cast  having  beauty  in  itself. 


3fireplacc0  135 

Questions  of  proportion  are  all-important.  Neither 
mirror  nor  picture  need  exactly  fill  a  space,  though 
neither  should  be  so  small  as  to  become  a  mere  spot 
upon  the  wall.  The  mirror  when  used  should  never 
be  hung  so  high  that  looking  into  it  involves  a  feat 
of  gymnastics,  nor  should  it  be  hung  at  all  if  that  which 
it  reflects  from  an  opposite  wall  possesses  no  interest 
in  itself.  One  wants  repose  about  a  fireplace.  The 
gaze  when  lifted  from  the  blaze  in  which  one's  own 
pictures  have  been  building,  should  never  be  made  to 
encounter  that  which  would  dispel  a  pleasanter  im- 
pression. The  crowding  together  of  photographs  is 
bad,  and  the  use  of  draperies  altogether  reprehensible. 
Composition  must  be  studied  not  only  in  the  balance 
of  the  square  by  the  upright,  but  by  the  objects  on  the 
end  and  in  the  centre  of  the  horizontal  line.  Scattered 
objects  are  as  distracting  as  scattered  thoughts.  There 
must  be  the  suggestion  of  a  given,  well-defined  motive. 
Permissible  as  the  absence  of  the  motive  may  be  in 
the  room  of  a  college  student  who  crowds  his  mantel 
with  his  pipes,  the  mirror  over  it  with  cards,  and  his 
walls  with  trophies,  it  is  inexcusable  in  surroundings 
where  maturer  thought  is  to  be  implied,  the  obliga- 
tions of  formal  intercourse  respected.  Dignity  becomes 
essential  here,  repose,  architectural  form,  since  the 
fireside  is  really  the  altar,  and  therefore  the  point  on 
which  the  interest  converges,  luring  the  eye  and  draw- 
ing even  the  body. 

Photographs    of    even    beautiful    women    become 


136  ^be  Ibouse  Bignifleb 

discordant  notes.  An  attempt,  dictated  by  senti- 
mental considerations,  to  keep  one  of  them  among 
the  candlesticks  and  clock  of  a  Louis  Sixteenth  bed- 
room, nearly  ruined  the  room.  It  became  impossible 
to  see  anything  else  on  entering.  When  finally  re- 
moved, the  relief  to  the  eye  was  at  once  apparent. 
For  we  have  among  us,  fortunately,  some  fireplaces 
of  great  and  exceptional  beauty,  not  only  architec- 
turally, because  they  are  adapted  to  their  special 
environments,  but  because  a  conscientious  and  in- 
telligent regard  has  been  observed  in  their  treatment. 
I  know  one  in  a  Louis  Sixteenth  room.  Above  the 
marble  shelf  rises  a  mirror,  carried,  as  are  the  window 
openings,  to  the  cornice.  The  panel  is  arched  with 
beautiful  mouldings  and  carved  reveals.  The  marble 
shelf  is  supported  by  delicately  carved  pilasters.  On 
it  stand  the  ormolu  clock  and  candelabra  of  the  period, 
genuine  examples  purchased  only  after  long  and 
conscientious  search  and  research.  Of  ormolu,  too, 
are  the  chenets  and  shovels,  charming  in  their  pro- 
portion and  design,  as  are  all  the  other  appointments 
of  the  fire  found  in  this  particular  house.  They  are 
a  perpetual  source  of  delight  to  those  gathered  about 
them,  satisfying  the  eye  by  their  form,  and  beguiling 
the  mind  by  their  grace  and  beauty.  Iron  would  be 
a  desecration  in  fireplaces  belonging  to  this  school,  as 
would  andirons  so  large  as  to  overcrowd  the  opening. 
In  great  Gothic  fireplaces,  on  the  other  hand,  or 
those  of  Jacobean  England,  the  miniature  would  be 


LOUIS   XV   FIREPLACE    OF    MARBLE   DECORATED   WITH    ORMOLU 

The   garlands  of  the  frieze  enclosing  medallions  showing  women's    heads,    are    repeated  in 
the  two  consoles  and  in  the  fire-arms.     Sculptured  figures  adorn  the  fire-back 


LOUIS    XV   FIREPLACE  IN   THRONE  ROOM  OF  FONTAINEBLEAU 

Carved   marble,    ornamented  with   ormolu   shell  in   middle,    and  lion's   head  at  each   end. 

Fire-back  shows  arms  of   France   and   Navarre. 


fireplaces  137 

out  of  place  and  ridiculous,  while  ormolu,  with  its 
traditions  of  ultra-refinement,  would  be  altogether 
an  absurdity.  The  very  massiveness  of  the  fireplace 
calls  for  something  of  like  importance  and  proportion. 
Among  these,  therefore,  we  find  iron  showing  uprights 
sometimes  four  feet  in  height,  and  cast  in  figures  now 
single  and  now  in  groups.  The  shovels  and  tongs, 
too,  are  of  iron,  requiring  strong  hands  to  wield  them, 
but  none  the  less  carefully  designed  and  proportioned 
on  that  account. 

As  the  fireplace  is  the  chief  source  of  interest  in  a 
room,  the  grouping  of  chairs  and  sofas  about  it  in- 
volves an  exercise  of  the  greatest  tact  and  discretion. 
Happily  this  is  a  point  on  which  more  thought  is  being 
daily  expended.  A  silly  little  straight-back  commerce- 
made  gilt  chair  has  no  business  before  the  fire  at  any 
time,  being  as  ill-conducive  to  comfort  as  a  school- 
room bench.  In  a  library,  one  wants  the  ample,  the 
reposeful,  that  which  invites  to  the  quiet  hour.  The 
drawing-room  has  still  other  requirements,  independent 
of  purely  historical  values.  One  must  provide  for 
conversation  here,  make  interruptions  easy,  and  never 
neglect  the  possibility  of  tea. 

In  rooms  of  sufficient  size  the  placing  of  two  long 
sofas  facing  each  other,  and  at  right  angles  to  the  fire, 
solves  many  a  difficulty.  It  is  a  fashion  which  has 
been  followed  for  some  years,  though  the  real  success 
of  the  method  depends  upon  the  place  occupied  by  the 
hearth  itself.     When  the  entrance  to  a  long  room  is 


138  ^be  1bou6e  2)iGmfic^ 

in  one  of  the  narrower  walls  and  directly  faces  the 
chimney,  the  windows  being  on  either  side,  the  effect 
of  the  sofas  longitudinally  placed  only  adds  to  the 
feeling  of  length,  besides  robbing  the  arrangement 
of  that  suggestion  of  privacy  which  is  so  desirable  in 
fireside  groups.  For  that  reason  it  is  better  when  the 
fireplace  comes  at  the  end  of  a  long  vista  to  place  but 
one  sofa,  directly  opposite  the  blaze.  When  a  table 
with  its  lamps  and  books  is  placed  back  of  this  one 
sofa,  an  idea  of  protection  is  at  once  suggested. 

When,  however,  the  fireplace  is  at  right  angles 
to  the  entrance  door,  the  two  long  sofas  placed  on  either 
side  of  the  hearth  suggest  the  need  of  approaches  which 
are  altogether  delightful, — to  still  more  secluded  cor- 
ners, as  it  were,  and  yet  closer  to  the  blaze.  In  one 
drawing-room  that  I  know,  the  fireplace  is  of  stone 
richly  carved,  its  hood  extending  to  the  cornice.  The 
two  long  sofas  facing  each  other  are  covered  with 
old  ruby-red  velvet,  with  cushions  adapted  to  every 
requirement  of  polite  elbow  and  back.  Drawn  up  by 
the  heads  of  these  sofas,  and  easily  turned  for  a  tete-k- 
tete,  are  several  large  cathedral  chairs,  also  covered 
with  red.  That  which  makes  the  composition  so 
dehghtful,  so  suggestive  of  hospitality  and  charm, 
is  the  fact  that  the  door  does  not  immediately  open 
upon  the  scene.  One  who  enters  must  first  turn,  get- 
ting with  his  momentary  pause  on  the  threshold  a 
certain  mental  adjustment.  To  approach  without 
being  bidden  would  be  impossible. 


ffireplacee  139 

Colour,  textile,  the  quality  and  design  of  the  fur- 
niture, the  prevailing  fashion  of  the  room  itself,  all 
tend  to  relieve  this  arrangement  of  sofas  and  chairs 
around  a  fireplace  of  too  great  a  sense  of  sameness. 
Individuality,  and  therefore  variety,  are  lent  by  the 
householder's  touch  by  the  flowers  she  introduces  in 
juxtaposition,  the  pictures  and  porcelains  she  affects, 
her  arrangement  of  lights,  and  the  provision  she  makes 
either  for  the  comfort  of  her  guests,  or  their  observance 
of  a  rigid  formaUty.  Absolutely  distinct,  then,  from 
that  of  the  example  just  quoted,  is  the  impression 
produced  by  an  almost  identical  arrangement  in 
another  drawing-room.  It  is  an  Adam  room.  The 
white  marble  fireplace  follows  classic  lines.  On  its 
shelf  are  three  rare  porcelain  vases,  beautiful  in  colour 
and  form.  Over  the  whole  hangs  a  mirror  enclosed 
in  a  frame  of  gilded  wood,  a  genuine  example,  charm- 
ing in  design  and  showing  deUcately  carved  birds  and 
branches  outspread  on  the  wall,  with  spaces  between 
which  relieve  the  composition  of  all  suggestion  of  heavi- 
ness. The  two  sofas  in  this  instance  are  covered  with  a 
blue-green  silk  damask  Uke  that  of  the  walls,  while  chairs 
upholstered  with  the  same  stuff  are  drawn  up  in  casual 
fashion.  A  table  prevents  too  ready  an  approach 
to  the  fire. 

Not  for  a  moment  must  it  be  inferred  that  the 
visitor  in  either  case  must  stumble  over  anything  on 
his  way  to  the  blaze.  Access  is  easy,  though  guarded. 
To  so  arrange  furniture  that  one  must  bump  against 


I40  Jlhc  Ibousc  Bignificb 

it  is  a  crime,  but  in  rooms  that  are  ample  this  necessity 
never  exists,  and  every  latitude  is  allowed  the  house- 
holder for  securing  not  only  all  the  protection  she 
demands  in  the  distribution  of  her  groups,  but  in  the 
exercise  of  all  the  originality  she  possesses. 

In  small  rooms,  on  the  other  hand,  approaches 
to  the  fire  should  be  left  absolutely  free.  In  ready- 
made  houses  this  is  a  subject  too  often  neglected,  es- 
pecially in  those  where  the  room  is  narrow  and  the 
entrance  door  directly  faces  the  fireplace.  Groups  of 
stationary  sofas  and  chairs  suggestive  of  intimacy  are 
impossible  here,  and  the  really  tactful  hostess  never 
attempts  it.  She  leaves  the  fireplace  free  to  all,  to 
those  who  would  like  to  stand  on  her  hearth  rug,  and 
those  who  come  in  for  the  moment  chilled.  Her 
stationary  sofas  and  chairs  she  arranges  in  protected 
places,  where  the  influence  of  the  flames  can  be  felt 
without  being  monopolised. 

The  special  treatment  of  the  hearth  involves  a 
question  in  which  no  two  sets  of  people  are  ever  found 
to  agree.  There  must  always  be  those  who  cling  to 
their  ashes,  as  there  must  be  those  who  insist  on 
the  brightly  garnished  hearth-stone,  some  daily  new 
arrangement  of  kindling  and  cut  paper  which  makes 
the  whole  affair  look  as  though  the  jeweller  had  been 
called  in  to  assist.  There  are  those,  too,  who  like 
fireboards  in  summer  and  those  who  like  cut  branches, 
even  pots  of  flowers  when  the  days  grow  warm.  No 
one   rule   can   be   set   down,   nor  is   any   universally 


iTireplacee  141 

observed.  To  some  the  whole  question  must  always 
remain  one  of  silly  affectation  about  which  there  can 
be  no  reasoning;  while  to  others  the  only  point  worth 
considering  is  one  of  pure  affection.  Human  senti- 
ments are  so  closely  involved  with  those  who  love 
the  fireside  that  every  latitude  in  the  way  of  ashes 
must  be  allowed.  For  it  is  the  -fireplace  which  tells  the 
whole  story  of  the  house.  One  reads  it  in  the  kind  of 
chairs  drawn  up  to  the  blaze — the  solitary  chair, 
sometimes,  with  its  table  and  lamp, — and  even  in  the 
way  the  chair  is  made  to  face.  One  sees  it  in  the  pic- 
ture over  the  shelf,  in  the  candles  set  out,  in  the 
things  which  one  has  chosen  to  place  on  the  mantel, 
in  the  ashes  on  the  hearth,  in  the  way  the  logs  are 
laid,  the  tongs  and  shovels,  the  extra  wood  or  lump 
of  ever-ready  cannel  coal.  One  knows  at  once  whether 
refinement  prevails,  good  housekeeping,  regard  for  the 
niceties,  or  only  sham;  whether  the  daily  intercourse 
is  fed  by  sentiment,  or  whether  the  whole  life  is  arid 
of  finer  touches.  And  all  this  is  true  whatever  the 
fireplace,  whether  Gothic,  or  Jacobean,  or  eighteenth- 
century,  whether  it  be  found  in  summer  camp  or  city 
house,  in  bedroom  or  in  salon. 

"Show  me  a  man's  fireplace,  and  I  will  show  you 
the  man. " 


Chapter  X 

Some  Important  Details 

T^HE  discovery  and  application  of  electricity  as  an 
■'■  illuminating  medium,  have  enabled  us  to  formu- 
late into  more  definite  lines  certain  principles  of  interior 
lighting.  With  electricity  we  can,  for  the  first  time 
and  at  will,  throw  a  light  up  on  an  object  or  throw 
it  down.  We  can  conceal  it  when  we  choose,  as  in  the 
cove  of  a  ceiling,  without  the  necessity  of  showing 
an  ugly  apparatus,  as  when  we  were  accustomed  to 
using  a  row  of  gas  jets,  protected  by  green  painted  tins. 
These  various  possibilities,  well  proved  and  established, 
have  all  tended  to  stimulate  our  interest  in  the  decora- 
tive value  of  lights  rightly  placed  and  distributed,  as 
well  as  in  the  perfection  of  those  forms  through  which 
these  lights  are  conveyed. 

With  the  discovery  of  gas  as  an  illuminant,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  had  thrown  over  every  aesthetic  sense. 
Blares  of  jets,  turned  on  full,  became  the  fashion,  and 
no  house  of  any  importance  was  counted  as  perfect, 
without   its   chandeHer   suspended   from   the   ceiling, 

and  this  without  any  regard  for  the  proportions  or 

142 


O"^^ 


Some  flmportant  2)etail0  143 

design  of  the  room.  Oftener  than  not,  an  imitation 
bronze  Mercury  was  introduced  into  the  model.  So 
wedded  did  v/e  become  to  gas,  indeed,  as  a  labour- 
saving  device,  that  candles  were  discarded  except  by 
the  few,  while  lamps  were  found  only  in  the  houses 
of  the  poor  or  of  the  country  dwellers. 

It  is  not  more  than  thirty  years  since  certain 
reactions  from  these  glaring  conditions  began  to  set  in, 
leading  to  a  revival  of  the  oil  lamps  even  in  houses 
well  supplied  with  gas.  There  were  two  reasons  for 
this:  the  light  from  oil  was  found  to  be  softer,  while 
the  lamps  themselves  could  be  distributed  at  random, 
without  the  necessity  of  ugly  rubber  tubing  attached 
to  a  fixture.  These  revivals,  however,  unfortunately 
led  to  silly  extravagances  in  the  way  of  shades,  whole 
industries  growing  up  out  of  their  manufacture,  the 
revenues  of  many  impecunious  women  being  aug- 
mented as  well.  Good  taste  was  abandoned,  and  all 
feeling  for  the  appropriate  thrown  to  the  winds.  In 
the  drawing-rooms  of  sedate  men  and  women,  living 
in  an  atmosphere  of  books  and  mahogany,  lamp  shades 
were  found  resembling  in  every  detail  of  tulle  and 
rose-garland  the  abbreviated  skirts  of  a  ballet  dancer. 

The  study  of  foreign  models  and  the  reproduction 
of  periods  are  now  leading  us  into  saner  and  more 
artistic  methods,  increasing  our  sensitiveness  to  detail, 
and  our  readiness  to  acknowledge,  at  least,  the  pro- 
priety of  expending  some  thought  on  the  subject. 
For  although  primarily  what  we  want  is  to  be  able 


144  ^be  1bou0e  BiQnltic^ 

to  see  clearly  in  the  dark,  in  attaining  that  end,  some 
regard  for  the  beautiful  and  appropriate  should 
certainly  be  exercised.  Thus  the  proper  distribution 
of  lights  becomes  an  important  consideration  in  all 
interiors,  whether  they  be  the  small  parlours  of  rented 
apartments  or  the  sumptuous  galleries  of  halls  of 
state.  The  French,  with  their  fine  appreciation  for 
beauty  and  fitness,  understood  all  this,  and  in  the 
examples  furnished  by  them  under  the  old  regime 
is  now  to  be  found  one  of  the  most  prolific  sources 
of  our  inspiration.  Not  only  were  their  fixtures 
objects  of  beauty  in  themselves,  respecting  every 
law  of  correct  design  and  proportion,  every  obligation 
of  good  workmanship  and  propriety,  but  these  fixtures 
were  distributed  in  a  way  which  made  them  com- 
ponent and  inalienable  factors  of  the  whole. 

The  French  architect  knew  how  to  arrange  his 
lights  so  as  to  throw  into  relief  and  accentuate  im- 
portant features,  as  when  uprights  were  placed  on 
either  side  of  a  throne;  how  to  break  up  the  long  lines 
of  a  room,  as  when  brackets  were  fastened  on  the  side 
walls;  and  also  how  to  add  to  the  feeling  of  space  by 
so  placing  a  chandelier  or  crystal  lustre  that,  without 
obstructing  the  vision,  it  could  still  be  repeated  as  in 
the  reflecting  surfaces  of  a  mirror.  Our  best  results, 
indeed,  are  but  copies  or  adaptations  of  French  methods 
although  candles  were  used  by  them  while  we  employ 
electricity.  Our  one  great  modern  innovation  is  said 
to  be  the  use  of  cove  or  concealed  lights  around  a 


Some  Umportant  BetailB  145 

ceiling,  but  as  this  involves  no  question  of  beauty  in 
the  fixture,  pre-eminence  in  all  that  relates  to  artistic 
values  may  still  be  yielded  to  the  French,  for  it  was 
also  their  influence  which  affected  the  English,  at 
the  time  of  their  so-called  classic  revival. 

In  order  to  illustrate  certain  features  of  the  French 
school,  it  may  be  as  well,  perhaps,  to  describe  one 
Louis  Sixteenth  salon  here  in  New  York.  The  room  is 
panelled  in  white  and  gold,  not  the  white  and  gold  of 
modem  imitators,  but  that  to  which  time  has  lent 
tone,  enhancing  every  grace  of  moulding  and  line. 
From  the  ceiling  there  hangs  between  two  mirrors 
running  to  the  cornice  a  silver  filigree  and  crystal  lustre, 
with  a  double  row  of  candles  distributed  in  groups — 
candles  by  the  way  being  the  only  lights  permitted  in 
this  room,  so  closely  is  the  period  followed.  This 
particular  chandelier  is  of  exceptional  beauty.  One 
never  loses  the  charm  of  the  design  in  the  brilliancy  of 
the  pendants,  which  being  only  accessories  are  neces- 
sarily not  too  overpowering.  Hanging  as  it  does 
between  the  two  mirrors  enclosed  in  panels,  its  light 
gives  width  to  the  apartment  and  brilliancy  on  gala 
nights.  The  eye,  however,  is  never  held  by  it.  Around 
the  room  in  other  well-considered  places,  as  on  either 
side  of  a  mirror  or  in  important  panels,  are  appliques 
in  ormolu,  each  holding  several  candles.  On  the 
mantelpiece  are  candelabra  and  again  on  pedestals, 
so  that  even  without  the  aid  of  the  chandelier  the 
room  may  not  only  be  sufficiently  lighted,  but  agree- 


146  ^be  Ibousc  BIgnifict) 

ably  so,  no  artificial  light  in  the  world  equalling  in 
charm  and  poetry  that  of  the  candle.  Here  then  we 
have  a  distribution  of  illuminating  mediums  which 
prove  an  art  too  often  neglected — a  central  fixture 
which  does  not  dominate  and  overpower,  but  which 
is  softened  by  minor  lights  on  other  levels,  as  stars 
shine  even  when  the  moon  is  full.  More  than  that, 
each  and  every  fixture  in  the  room  is  a  thing  of  beauty 
in  itself,  delighting  the  eye  even  at  noon-time,  for 
they  are  not  mere  excrescences  on  a  wall  surface,  their 
utility  a  lame  justification  for  their  presence,  but 
lovely  and  component  parts  of  the  room,  essential 
to  the  whole,  adding  symmetry  and  balance  in  the 
general  arrangement.  By  their  own  individual  beauty 
and  excellence,  moreover,  they  become  a  distinct 
contribution  to  one's  pleasure,  like  any  other  work 
of  art. 

Charming  as  are  candles,  it  is  not  always  necessary 
to  use  them  even  with  the  antique  fixture,  which  goes 
again  to  prove  how  the  essential  points  involved  in  a 
proper  distribution  of  lights  as  decorative,  as  well 
as  illuminating,  features  were  considered  by  the  men 
who  left  us  so  rich  a  heritage.  Once  properly  distri- 
buted, the  modem  inventor  has  only  to  introduce 
the  form  of  a  candle,  or  twist  a  connecting  line  into 
the  glass  cup  of  a  cathedral  lamp,  to  produce  effects 
which  when  well-managed  do  not  jar  upon  the  ob- 
server with  the  obtrusion  of  too  modem  a  note.  One 
of  the  most  successful  and  exquisite  examples  of  his 


Some  llmportant  Details  147 

skill  is  found  in  the  hall  of  a  New  York  house.  The 
hall  itself  is  of  white  marble,  its  classic  columns  and 
pediments  about  the  door  openings  being  an  exact 
copy  of  an  Adam  house  in  London.  From  the  ceiling 
hang  three  dull  bronze  chains  holding  a  piece  of  ala- 
baster, its  shape  being  that  of  a  Greek  vase  without 
its  supporting  column.  It  is  absolutely  simple,  devoid 
of  all  ornament,  but  so  enchanting  in  form  that  the 
eye  is  entranced.  One  knows  that  electricity  must 
have  been  introduced  inside  and  of  sufficient  strength 
for  ample  illumination,  but  not  a  hint  of  it  is  given 
in  the  way  of  any  other  visible  token.  The  light  pro- 
duced is  exquisite  and  tender,  softly  pervasive,  felt 
not  seen,  absolutely  harmonious  with  the  cool  of  the 
marbles,  and  so  perfect  that  even  after  one  has  gone 
out  into  the  street  the  mind  wanders  back  to  it  as  to 
some  old  scene  full  of  peace  and  poetry. 

With  our  revival  and  adaptations  of  these  different 
periods  we  have  begun  to  adopt  various  uprights  for 
supporting  lights,  the  marble  tripod  of  the  classic 
school  as  it  was  affected  by  the  newly  discovered 
treasures  of  Pompeii,  or  the  simple  shaft  used  by  the 
French.  Many  of  these  uprights  are  of  great  beauty 
and  seem  to  add  almost  a  structural  importance  to  a 
room  or  hall.  I  have  in  mind  some  of  marble  orna- 
mented with  ormolu  and  surmounted  by  bronze 
figures  holding  branches  for  lights,  and  again  others 
holding  great  cathedral  candlesticks.  With  their  dig- 
nity and  beauty  they  not  only  compel  a  respect  for 


148  ^be  Ibouse  Bignifieb 

themselves,  but  make  it  necessary  that,  in  their 
presence,  some  should  also  be  shown  for  propriety. 
To  insult  them  by  introducing  flaring  flower-bedecked 
shades  into  their  company  would  be  an  impossibility, 
and  without  doubt  the  tendency  of  the  present  day 
toward  greater  simplicity  in  lampshades  is  due  to  their 
influence.  Stufls  and  laces,  at  any  rate,  are  no  longer 
either  over-accentuated  or  impertinently  obtruded 
with  every  light,  as  happened  when  wide  spreading 
floimces  and  other  foolish  extravagances  were  made 
to  give  to  drawing-rooms  the  air  of  a  prosperous 
milliner's  parlour. 

These  various  revivals  of  old  models  have  also 
inspired  our  modem  use  of  mirrors  without  as  yet 
having  led  us  into  either  overdoing  them,  or  settling 
into  ruts,  as  once  happened  when  not  a  single  brown- 
stone  house  in  town  was  without  its  pier-glass  be- 
tween the  windows  and  its  huge  mirror  over  the 
mantel,  both  glasses  being  encased  in  overweighted 
frames  of  walnut  or  gilt.  Nowadays,  we  find  these 
mirrors  fixed  as  they  should  be  in  panels,  and  when 
portable,  framed  in  some  unique  design  of  carved 
wood  or  wrought  silver — foreign  palaces  and  shops 
having  been  denuded  to  enrich  our  store.  Unfortu- 
nately, we  are  not  always  happy  in  placing  these  por- 
table mirrors,  nor  careful  enough  about  studying 
their  reflections.  The  French  never  neglected  this  side 
of  the  question,  having  always  seen  to  it  that  every 
repetition  in  the  way  of  a  reflection  should  be  one  to 


Some  Umportaut  Betails  149 

add  to  the  general  pleasure.  Although  we  have 
adopted  their  method  regarding  the  placing  of  mirrors 
opposite  to  each  other,  we  have  failed  in  their  great 
principle  concerning  the  objects  reflected.  This  is 
especially  true  when  the  mirrors  which  run  to  a  plain 
white  ceiling  are  encased  in  simple  brass  bands  without 
ornamentation.  When  one  stands  between  these  and 
looks  up,  the  effect  is  distressing,  being  that  of  standing 
in  an  endless  series  of  unadorned  corridors,  like  those 
of  a  hospital  or  prison  house.  Such  an  impression 
would  be  easily  obviated  by  the  hanging  of  a  beautiful 
chandelier  between  the  mirrors,  or  by  breaking  up  the 
bare  lines  of  the  brass  frame  with  the  introduction 
of  some  graceful  ornamentation.  For  the  bare  and 
ugly  are  bad  enough  at  any  time  without  the  necessity 
for  reproducing  them  indefinitely.  Mirrors  are  only 
justified  in  decoration  when  they  are  made  to  repeat 
something  which  is  particularly  pleasant.  They  are 
the  quotation  marks  of  an  architectural  scheme,  and 
stupid  when  the  quoted  phrase  itself  has  no  intrinsic 
value. 

And  as  we  are  careless  regarding  our  reflections, 
so  are  we  especially  thoughtless,  concerning  not  only 
our  vistas — those  objective  points  in  any  formal  design 
toward  which  the  eye  is  unconsciously  carried — but 
also  that  other  great  essential  in  all  composition 
— the  art  of  transition.  It  is  an  art  presenting  many 
difficulties,  though  when  once  it  is  mastered  the  artist 


1 50  ^be  Ibonec  WiQmfict> 

is  proved.  The  writer  must  acquire  it.  When  it 
eludes  him,  he  resorts  to  the  use  of  a  space.  The 
pubUc  speaker  unequal  to  the  effort  which  its  laws 
entail,  remains  abrupt,  periodic,  wearying  you  with 
a  series  of  shocks,  and  the  necessity  for  making  fre- 
quent mental  readjustments.  The  painter  who  has 
failed  to  master  this  art  becomes  scattered,  the  actor 
a  creature  of  fits  and  starts,  while  the  hostess  never 
succeeds  in  putting  you  at  ease. 

If,  then,  a  given  number  of  rooms  are  made  to 
open  out  of  each  other,  or  a  single  room  is  so  arranged 
that  the  eye  is  carried  to  a  given  point  as  to  a  fireplace 
or  a  picture,  certainly  the  process  of  arriving  at  that 
point  should  be  made  both  easy  and  agreeable,  the 
eye  never  arrested  on  its  way  by  anything  which 
startles.  One  colour  should  not  clash  upon  another, 
one  epoch  be  at  war  with  its  successor.  A  disregard 
of  these  obligations  is  that  which  makes  it  so  unrestful 
and  unpleasant  in  certain  houses  to  be  obliged  to  pass 
from  a  so-called  Japanese  room  into  one  where  Turkish 
hangings  prevail,  as  if  we  were  not  in  a  gentleman's 
house  at  all,  but  at  some  international  exposition. 
This,  too,  is  what  makes  it  a  misery  to  be  obliged  to  look 
past  certain  shades  of  red,  on  again  past  blue,  in  order 
to  arrive  at  still  different  tones  of  red,  or  even  yellow. 

As  for  the  objective  point  itself,  the  end  of  the 
vista,  that  which  is  placed  there,  though  perfectly 
proper  perhaps  in  its  immediate  surroundings,  may 
be  altogether  objectionable  when  seen  in  relation  to 


Some  Umportant  Details  151 

intermediary  objects,  as  from  another  room  through 
which,  when  the  doors  are  opened,  you  must  look. 
An  object  of  minor  importance  placed  at  the  end  of  a 
vista  entails  at  once  a  loss  of  dignity  to  the  whole 
sweep.  An  inharmonious  colour,  like  that  of  a  curtain 
or  a  lampshade,  produces  the  same  effect.  One  must 
know  how  to  carry  the  eye,  and  to  what  sort  of  an 
object  it  should  be  carried,  as  they  do  in  churches 
where  the  vision  is  made  to  sweep  along  the  aisle  and 
rest  upon  the  altar.  A  single  tiny  flame  without  any 
architectural  arrangement,  placed  at  the  end  of  a  vista, 
might  suggest  mystery  but  never  dignity,  never  awe, 
never  an  uplifting  of  the  spirit.  As  it  is  in  churches,  so 
it  must  be  in  all  houses.  When  the  eye  is  carried 
to  a  single  object,  the  character  of  that  object  must 
be  considered.  Dignity  is  at  once  destroyed  when 
the  object  is  inadequate,  as  when  miniature  mirrors, 
for  instance,  are  placed  at  the  ends  of  long  corridors. 

When  it  comes  to  a  question  of  ceilings  and  floors, 
most  women  discover  themselves  altogether  in  the 
hands  of  their  architects.  They  find  it  hard  to  argue 
over  figures  representing  scales  of  measurement  about 
which  they  know  nothing,  although  they  do  know  that 
a  few  inches  too  high  or  too  low  in  the  lift  of  a  ceiling 
may  hopelessly  destroy  all  sense  of  comfort  in  a  room. 
It  is  only  after  a  ceiling  is  placed  that  the  amateur 
realises  a  possible  error,  by  which  time  in  most  cases 
it  is  too  late  to  make  a  change.     With  simple  materials 


152  Zbc  1bou6e  Dignified) 

like  paper  or  burlaps,  a  picture  rod  and  a  pot  of  paint 
or  kalsomine,  the  problem  is  never  difficult  nor  the 
expense  of  alterations  great.  But  when  the  materials 
used  include  carved  panels  or  a  stucco  beautifully 
designed,  change  implies  difficulties  too  costly  to  be 
overcome.  The  most  obvious  fault,  therefore,  found 
in  most  of  our  ceilings,  is  that,  though  beautiful  in 
themselves,  they  are  often  overpowering,  suggesting 
a  tendency  to  settle  down  upon  the  head.  They  may 
be  too  heavily  overweighted  with  ornament  for  small 
rooms,  though  most  of  the  trouble  lies  with  the  cornice 
and  the  failure  of  the  cornice  to  suggest  its  legitimate 
purpose — that  of  lifting  and  supporting  the  parts  which 
spring  from  it.  A  study  of  the  various  ceilings  illus- 
trating these  pages  will  prove  how  often  a  neglect 
of  the  cornice  has  led  to  certain  unhappy  impressions. 

As  one  wants  to  feel  a  ceiling  well  lifted  overhead, 
so  one  wants  to  know  that  a  floor  is  well  planted 
underfoot.  Too  great  prominence  given  to  set  figures, 
as  we  learned  long  years  ago  with  our  carpets,  has  a 
tendency  to  make  a  floor  jump  at  you  as  you  enter 
a  room.  Yet  we  forgot  all  this  when  we  began  to 
inlay  our  floors,  covering  them  with  patterns  and  fin- 
ishing them  with  borders  that  have  since  proved 
distracting.  Our  most  beautiful  and  successful  de- 
partures have  been  made  in  those  in  which  the 
inlay  preserved  one  tone,  its  repose  undisturbed  by 
a  border. 

The  same  rule  holds  good  with  the  rugs.     Patches 


Some  "flmportant  2)etatl0  153 

of  little  rugs  scattered  about  on  a  floor,  are  as  bad  as 
spots  of  little  pictures  on  the  walls.  One  small  rug 
before  a  sofa,  or  again  before  a  fire,  has  a  reason  for 
its  existence  and  suggests  no  query.  A  series  of  small 
rugs,  on  the  other  hand,  when  placed  about  a  room, 
immediately  excites  a  certain  unconscious  cerebration, 
in  which  a  fear  of  falling  plays  no  unimportant  part. 
That  is  why  long  stretches  of  an  even  colour  throughout 
one  floor  are  often  so  reassuring,  not  only  to  the  eye 
but  to  the  mind.  They  give  you  the  certainty  at  least 
of  a  sure  foundation.  The  colour,  however,  must  be 
low  in  tone,  lower  at  least  than  that  of  the  walls, 
otherwise  the  whole  floor  rises  and  is  out  of  scale, 
making  you  feel,  when  you  walk  over  it,  as  if  you 
were  at  sea. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  mistakes  made  in  some  of 
our  newer  houses  lies  in  the  neglect  of  the  servants' 
quarters,  both  above  and  below  stairs.  This  is  es- 
pecially true  of  houses  in  the  middle  of  a  block,  where 
the  aim  has  been  to  bring  the  front  door  as  near  as 
possible  to  a  level  with  the  pavement,  so  avoiding 
the  ordinary  city  stoop,  which  once  appeared  like  a 
pestilence  among  us,  sweeping  the  whole  length  of  our 
island.  The  recent  changes  made  have  led  to  sinking 
the  kitchen  department  so  low  that  in  many  instances 
electricity  must  be  burned  all  day  even  about  the 
stove.  No  house  can  possess  real  dignity  which  is 
built  upon  so  great  an  injustice  to  those  who  minister 


154  ^bc  Ibouse  2)iGmtie^ 

to  its  great  necessities.  When  once  the  crime  is  dis- 
covered, the  whole  superstructure  is  laid  open  to 
question,  even  the  hidden  recesses  of  the  householder's 
mind  coming  in  for  a  doubt. 

When  some  regard  has  been  paid  to  the  requirements 
of  the  kitchen  department,  including  a  well-lighted 
sitting-room,  and  when  the  city  stoop  is  to  be  avoided, 
a  fashion  has  been  adopted,  in  some  houses,  of  having 
a  second  flight  of  steps  inside  the  vestibule.  In  such 
cases  two  or  three  steps  lead  first  from  the  pavement 
to  the  outer  vestibule  door,  half  a  dozen  or  more 
leading  from  this  door  to  that  of  the  main  hall.  This 
serves  to  bring  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room  on 
the  same  level  as  that  of  our  older  town-houses,  without 
the  necessity  for  either  defrauding  our  servants,  or 
defacing  our  fagades  with  high -perched  stoops.  In 
cities  like  Philadelphia,  where  a  small  alley  divides 
the  block,  none  of  our  problems  exists,  and  the  street 
entrance  may  be  levelled  without  driving  the  cook 
into  an  inferno. 

Much  interest  may  be  lent  to  these  modem  vesti- 
bules, which  are  sometimes  panelled  in  marble,  and 
sometimes  constructed  of  wood.  Objections,  however, 
are  often  urged  against  the  plate-glass  doors,  pro- 
tected by  wrought  iron  and  hung  with  velvets  or  rich 
stuffs.  But  as  these  have  been  substituted  for  the 
sake  of  light,  such  objections  hardly  hold  good,  es- 
pecially as  the  heavy  doors  of  wood  are  not  eliminated, 
being  always  closed  at  night.     When  the  size  of  the 


Some  Important  BetailB  155 

vestibiile  permits,  a  seat  is  introduced,  sometimes 
of  marble,  richly  carved  in  figures.  One  particular 
vestibule,  and  the  most  beautiful  I  know,  has  a  rounded 
ceiling  inlaid  with  mosaic  supported  by  marble  panels. 
The  sconces,  placed  at  the  spring  of  the  arch,  are  of 
bronze,  showing  charming  cherubs  holding  the  light. 
The  steps  are  of  white  marble.  An  exquisitely  wrought 
iron  door,  hung  with  richly  embroidered  velvets  opens 
directly  into  the  hall. 

Too  many  rights  of  children  have  been  urged  in 
these  days,  too  many  laws  of  health,  to  presuppose 
so  great  a  neglect  of  their  apartments,  as  that  which 
has  just  been  referred  to  regarding  the  accommoda- 
tions made  for  servants.  With  just  pride  the  modem 
well-equipped  mother  will  usher  you  into  her  hygienic 
nursery,  flooded  with  sunshine,  and  filled  with  every 
kind  of  washable  thing,  including  floor  and  wall  cover- 
ings, dolls  and  their  garments,  making  it  an  everyday 
wonder  that  disease  should  ever  be  found  lurking  in 
an  unsuspected  comer.  For  even  the  comer  is  being 
eliminated  as  rapidly  as  possible,  the  cove  being 
substituted  for  it,  not  so  much  as  a  crack  for  holding 
possible  dust  being  left  at  the  base-board. 

The  play-rooms,  too,  are  an  education  in  themselves, 
and  as  delightful  as  the  thought  of  the  taste  of  the  day 
can  make  them.  Some  are  furnished  after  periods, 
reproducing  famous  interiors,  some  are  simply  airy 
and  delightful  retreats,  but  all  are  lovely,  representing 


156  ^be  Ibouec  Bignifieb 

in  the  better  houses,  no  overflow  from  other  apartments, 
nothing  that  is  shabby,  and  certainly  nothing  that  is 
there  simply  to  be  broken  or  abused.  One  finds  book- 
cases, easy-chairs,  pianos,  birds,  pictures,  charming 
combinations  of  colour,  agreeable  outlooks.  There  is 
everything,  in  fact  to  suggest  that  even  in  playtime, 
and  with  an  abundance  of  toys  about,  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  not  ruffians,  are  being  so  reared  that 
transition  to  the  grown-up  drawing-room  will  never 
come  as  an  awkward  surprise.  And  why  should  this 
not  be  so?  The  great  distinction  dividing  one  class 
from  another  is  often  found  in  the  seeds  that  are  sown 
in  a  nursery  or  play- room.  For  here  endless  re- 
adjustments of  rights  are  ceaselessly  going  on,  battles 
of  unselfishness  are  being  fought  out,  and  principles 
of  justice  and  consideration  established,  while  manners 
are  so  cultivated  as  to  become,  as  they  should  be, 
almost  automatic,  if  this  may  mean  being  bred  into 
the  very  bone  and  marrow  of  the  man.  The  young 
son,  at  any  rate,  grown  to  manhood,  does  not  become 
self-conscious  when  obliged  to  take  off  his  hat,  nor  does 
he  have  to  stop  and  think  when  rising  in  the  presence 
of  an  elder.  Nor  does  the  young  daughter  have  to 
go  through  a  series  of  self-conscious  contortions  when 
finding  herself  obliged  to  proffer  a  cup  of  tea  to  a 
friend.  In  the  nursery  and  playroom,  in  fact,  the  child 
finds  provision  made  for  the  next  stage  of  its  develop- 
ment, which  after  all  should  be  the  main  purpose  of  the 
home. 


Some  Umportant  Detaile  157 

And  it  is  on  the  purpose  of  the  home  that  stress 
has  been  most  frequently  laid  in  these  pages,  a  purpose 
meant  to  include  not  alone  the  whole  range  of  a  man's 
obligations  to  his  own,  but  to  all  of  those  to  whom  he 
opens  his  doors,  whether  they  enter  as  friends,  ac- 
quaintances, messengers,  or  the  servants  who  minister 
to  his  daily  needs.  The  fundamentals  must  be  first 
established;  and  these  include  courtesy,  consideration, 
tact,  kindliness,  knowledge,  good  taste,  respect  for 
one's  self  and  respect  for  one's  neighbour.  The  ob- 
servance of  these  fundamentals  alone  gives  dignity 
to  his  dwelling.  They  must  order  his  life,  the  arrange- 
ment of  his  furniture,  the  choice  of  his  curtains,  the 
placing  of  his  books,  the  lighting  of  his  fires,  and  the 
position  of  his  lamps.  They  must  control,  too,  the  very 
manner  of  his  building.  It  matters  little  whether 
he  follows  one  school  or  another;  but  it  matters  much 
not  only  what  he  undertakes  to  do,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  accomplishes  his  undertaking. 


THE    END 


^  from  Which  It  was  borrowed  "^ 


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